


Be my chef, Yuuri

by nerdlife4eva



Series: Love at Nikiforov's [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Angst and Humor, Awkward Flirting, Complete, Eros Katsuki Yuuri, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Mutual Pining, Other, VictUuri, victuuriwriters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-09-28 13:08:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 88,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10102205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdlife4eva/pseuds/nerdlife4eva
Summary: When 28-year-old Victor loses his parents and inherits his family's five-star restaurant, he learns that working for a living is much harder than he anticipated. That's when young, talented chef, Yuuri Katsuki unexpectedly arrives, providing hope in the midst of Victor's chaos.Can these two work together? Bartender Chris, manager Mila, and sous chef Phichit can't wait to laugh at them as they try to navigate their instant attraction in the most awkward of ways.THIS FIC IS NOW COMPLETECome yell at/with me on Tumblr:N3rdlif343vaTheme Song:Something Just Like ThisSide Fics for this Story:A Stroll Though the MarketThe Sex ScenesYakov’s ReturnBlanket Hog





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story hit me like a derailed freight train. I found myself scribbling notes and my fingers shaking with the need to get it on paper. Settle in, this isn't going to be a quick one!
> 
> (Also, the "something on your face" is indeed a nod to Ron/Hermoine and Newt/Tina in the HP universe!)

His head was throbbing. Letting the weight of the decisions in front of him crash down on him, he let his forehead drop onto the desk, smearing the ink on the ledgers with his sweat. Numbers danced in his mind, colliding with food orders, staff schedules, and seating arrangements. Whenever a question was answered, a new question appeared in a never-ending task list that rolled through his brain on loop. The maddening sound of his own heartbeat overtook his ears, blocking out the precise sounds of the conversation. Somewhere above him, Mila was speaking in calm tones, but every word felt like it was smacking bruises against his skin. Victor was twenty-eight and completely, utterly overwhelmed.

“Don’t be dramatic, Vitya,” the distinctly female voice was soft in its criticism, “it has been three months since this place officially became yours and all of the gimmicks have been exhausted. You need to hire a chef or this place is going to go under.”

The groan that escaped Victor came from the pit of his stomach, bringing with it the bubble of nausea that he had been struggling to control. Four months. It was such a small amount of time in the grand scheme of a lifeline, but it had been the hardest months of his life. His parents were dead. His head chef had quit when the news broke that the five star family-owned restaurant would be inherited by the owners’ playboy son. Had it been his fault that he had never had to work? Sure, he had filled in shifts at the restaurant, but his parents had made life easy for him, never requiring him to work as hard as they did. Victor had taken for granted that they would always be there, up until the moment that they weren’t.

“Snap out of it!” Mila cursed at him. She was younger than him and perhaps as the owner he should correct her tone, but he couldn’t afford to lose her too. Mila, at twenty-three years old, knew more about running the restaurant than he did and had been his savior in the process. She was an insufferable flirt and tortured the busboys to no end, but the patrons loved her. And, Victor thought painfully to himself, my mother had trusted Mila with the interworking of the restaurant, something neither of my parents had trusted to me when they were alive. Bitter thoughts wound their way into the front of his mind, and he attempted to push them away, refocusing on sound of the red-head glaring down at him. Without her, the doors to this legacy surely would have closed almost instantaneously, and Victor reminded himself to be grateful that she tolerated him at all.  
It had been Mila’s idea to hire guest chefs until they found someone permanent, offering publicity and a space to work for thirty days at time in exchange for reduced pay. They had made it through three chefs so far, but their profits were starting to curve downward and Victor knew it was time to make a permanent decision. The problem being that Victor had no idea how to make such a decision and his anxiety kept him from even finding the motivation to do so.

Another bang on his desk, brought his head up and out of his own thoughts. “I’m sorry, Mila,” he spoke quietly watching the frustration fade from her face, “I know we need someone. Tell me what to do.” His dejected sigh took the wind out of her agitated sails. Mila moved to sit in the plush chair in front of the desk when her downward progress was halted by a knock on the door. Confusion taking over his face, Victor raised an eyebrow at his restaurant manager as he called, “come in!”

A bouncing Minami, one of the three remaining busboys, bounded into the room. “Victor!” the boy had the good sense to blush and correct himself, “I mean, Mr. Nikiforov! Sorry, sir! There is someone here to see you. He says he is a chef!” The blush on the boy’s checks deepened as he glanced out of the open door, muttering something under his breath about the chef looking good enough to eat.

“Excuse me?” Victor couldn’t help his smirk. Minami was the younger of the busboys, a mere seventeen, and was certainly more innocent than the rest of his staff. The simple comment told Victor that perhaps the boy was being a bit more corrupted by his vulgar staff than he realized, and he turned a quizzical look to Mila who was laughing behind her hand.

“Nothing!” Minami squeaked, waving his hands. “Um, he is up front, do you want him to come back?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Victor stood, smoothing his shirt down, running a hand through his hair. He glanced at Mila who gave him a thumbs up and he strode from the office behind his youngest employee.

Mila collapsed in a fit of giggles, failing to tell Victor that he had a large ink swipe across his forehead where he had rolled it on the ledger books. Trying to gather herself, she stood, shaking her shoulders and pulling down her own skirt. If this chef was attractive enough to get Minami talking, she was going to need to see him for herself. Snickering, she sped up her steps, not wanting to miss the opportunity of seeing Victor attempt to be professional, while he had a face full of messy ink imprints.

Victor moved gracefully through the dining room, making eye contact and nodding to Chris who was behind the bar setting up for the night. Victor again raised his eyebrow when he saw Chris wipe a finger on his own forehead, but shrugged it off as he reached the front of the restaurant, only slightly behind the multi-colored head of hair that belonged to Minami. He distinctly remembered his father wanting the boy to dye his hair to a normal color, but the red and yellow streaks were of no concern to Victor. Cracking his neck as he stepped forward onto the tiled floor of the waiting area, mentally preparing himself for whatever was waiting for him.

He wasn’t prepared. As Minami stepped aside with a disappointed look on his face, Victor found himself standing in front of the most gorgeous man he had ever seen in real life. It wasn’t a short list of good-looking men that he had been exposed to either. Fog settled into his brain as his ice blue eyes connected with the honey brown ones peering up at him. The man had a carefully disheveled mop of jet black hair, and his face was accented with a pair of blue rimmed glasses. He wore tailored black pants that looked more practical than expensive, and a pressed white chef’s jacket. There was a black bag slung over his shoulder, and a small black canvas bag sitting on the waiting room chair behind him. Victor was so focused on the blindingly beautiful man in front of him that he completely failed to notice that he was accompanied by a second man dressed in similar fashion.

  
Approaching the small group, Mila exchanged knowing looks with Chris, neither of them containing their snickers at their speechless boss. Her heels clacking on the tile, Mila brushed passed Victor’s dumbfounded figure, reaching a hand out to the man standing nervously in front of him. “Hi, I’m Mila,” she spoke conversationally as she nudged Victor with her elbow. It was a nod to her own self-resistance when she didn’t burst out laughing at Victor’s reddening cheeks. “I’m the manager here, and this is Victor Nikiforov, he is the owner.”

Taking the hand that was offered, Yuuri softly smiled, nodding his head. “My name is Yuuri Katsuki, this is my sous chef, Phichit,” he waved a hand at Phichit, encouraging him forward.

“So, you are interested in being our chef? Do you have a resume?” Mila watched as the smaller man reached into his black bag, sparring a glance at Victor who still hadn’t regained his sense of speech. Rolling her eyes, she took the paper from the smallish hand that offered it. Her eyes flicked over the resume, noting that it extended onto a second page. The list of educational background was impressive, not to be outdone by the list of professional experience. She was trying to calculate how the man could have possibly obtained such an impressive resume when he appeared so young, when he cleared his throat interrupting her thoughts. “Impressive, Mr. Katsuki,” she noted his smile when she said his name, assuming she must have pronounced it correctly. “Please tell me, how old are you? You have quite a list of experience.” It was amusing to watch as the handsome man blushed, in equal measures to her still speechless boss.

“I’m twenty-four, about to be twenty-five,” Yuuri’s eyes danced between Mila’s and Victor’s faces. “I have extensive experience in multiple types of cuisine, but I haven’t found a restaurant that feels like it fits with me.”

“And how,” Mila tucked a hand in her pocket, popping her hip to one side while tapping her chin with the corner of Yuuri’s resume, “did you know our restaurant was looking for a chef?”

“That’s all me, ma’am!” Phichit’s voice was cheerful and confident. He was the kind of person that could easily light up an entire room, simply by existing in it. “My parents are restaurateurs as well, they gave us our first jobs out of school. We moved here six months ago for placement at another high-end restaurant, but the family decided to sell the place. When I told my mom, she suggested that we inquire if a chef had been found for your location.” Phichit bit his lip, gaze darting to Victor. “I’m sorry about…” he trailed off, uncomfortably leaving the sentence hanging between them.

Jumping slightly when Mila pinched his arm, Victor shook his head, combing his hair out of his eyes with his fingers. “You want to be my chef?” The question was directed straight into the face of Yuuri. There was a purr annunciated on the word ‘my’ that did not go unnoticed by Mila or Phichit, the two catching each other’s expressions and exchanging small wicked smiles.

There was a lump in Yuuri’s throat that had solidified over the time that Victor had stood there staring at him. Anxiety gripped at his insides, making Yuuri want to run, but the gentle smile beaming from the man looking eagerly into his eyes fought back against the negative sensation. Phichit had told Yuuri that Victor was good-looking, but nothing his best friend had said had prepared him for the breath-taking blue eyes, sparkling silver hair, or easy elegance that was Victor Nikiforov. Shoving all of that down, Yuuri steeled himself, meeting the challenge with confidence. “If you’ll have me,” he didn’t let Mila’s wink at Phichit derail him, “then yes, I would very much like to be your chef. On three conditions.”

“Name them,” Victor subconsciously shifted toward the smaller man, feeling his heart slamming against the walls of his chest. He had a bizarre urge to touch the black hair that was gracing Yuuri’s forehead. It was an urge that he was barely restraining, shoving his hands into his pockets to help the effort.

“Phichit is my sous chef,” Yuuri let his friend link arms with him and smiled as he continued, “I will make everything on your traditional menu, but I get to add one chef’s special every night, and,” he glanced at Phichit who nodded, “we won’t accept payment for the first thirty days. If this doesn’t work out, than no one is worse off and we’ll move on. After thirty days, if we are a match, then we’ll discuss the terms of employment.” With false confidence, Yuuri lifted a hand to Victor, holding firm as he stared directly at the restaurant's owner.

“You’re on,” Victor took the hand, swallowing hard when the shock flashed up his arm from the contact.

Mila gaped at the two men as they shook hands for an awkwardly long amount of time. It was quite possible that Yuuri Katsuki could save their restaurant, or destroy it, and she wasn’t going to debate that the idea was a fair one, but Victor hadn’t bothered to consult with her. What was happening in front of her was untraditional and not how business was normally conducted. Her frustration was painted across her face, when the brown eyes turned to focus on her.

Yuuri dragged his hand from Victor’s grasp, hesitant to let go when the sparks were so strong between their touching skin. Reason had fought into his brain when Phichit had nudged his side, indicating a head toward Mila. “Is this agreement okay with you?” Yuuri’s shyness broke through his confidence. “It seems that you are the driving force here, am I correct?” He knew that Victor owned the restaurant, but Mila’s position was obvious from the moment she had joined them. His attention had defaulted to Victor, for reasons he wasn’t ready to address, and he had to consciously remind himself that most successful restaurants were like families and he needed to respect the matriarch of this one.

His respectful tone and small bow of his head cut straight through her desire to be angry and her frustration of being overlooked by Victor. Mila wanted to remain rigid and in charge, but the softness of Yuuri shook the need from her. “He pretends to be the boss,” Mila elbowed into Victor’s side making him pout, “but he would be lost without me.” She sighed looking at her watch. “We’ll give you a shot, Yuuri Katsuki, and on your terms. The guest chef has a last shift this evening. You are welcome to stay and observe for the night, assist if he needs it, and learn the layout of the kitchen. Tomorrow, it will be all yours.” Flicking a finger at her head waiter, she waited until the severe looking man arrived at her side to continue. “This is Georgi, he is the head waiter. He’ll show you to the kitchen.” Georgi nodded, turning to lead the way without speaking.

“You’ll see!” Phichit chimed in happily, “this is going to be great!” He hugged Mila, catching her by surprise and making her laugh. He skipped toward Georgi’s retreating back, making Mila think he was exactly what her staff needed for a boost in morale.

Yuuri followed his sous chef and the sullen waiter, turning briefly back to his new boss. “Mr. Nikiforov?” His question caused the silver-haired man to twist to face him.

“Victor is fine,” he said, more breathless than he wanted to be.

Smiling, Yuuri nodded, “Victor.” He raised a hand to his forehead, nodding again towards Victor. “You have something on your face, right about here.” Yuuri turned on his heel, not waiting to see Victor’s reaction, a smile tugging at his lips.

Victor swore, as Mila cackled and grabbed his arm. Dragging Victor toward the bar, Chris joined her in openly teasing the owner. “You’re totally screwed,” Chris piped, pouring dark whiskey into three shot glasses, “you know that, right?” His wiggling eyebrows spoke volumes about the type of screwed that Chris was implying.

The three of them wrapped their fingers around their individual shot glasses, clinking them together before gulping the burning liquid. Victor let his gaze float to the doors of the kitchen, hoping that whatever he felt chasing the alcohol into his stomach was a signal that better days were coming his way.


	2. Chapter 2

Yuuri laid in his bed, starring at the ceiling listening to Phichit talk to his hamsters in the living room. Yesterday still felt like a dream to his hazy mind as he tried to gather the details of the day in succinct order. It had all started with a push from Phichit's parents, encouraging them to stay in Russia instead of running home to either one of their families. They could have easily returned to one of Phichit's family restaurants or to Yuuri's own parents in Japan who would happily relinquish the kitchen at their onsen, but no, they had stepped into Nikiforov's restaurant acting as if the place had owed them something. It had been nearly impossible to keep up their act when Yuuri had been confronted with the disarming good lucks of the owner. Victor's face floated into his memory, making Yuuri's cheeks flush from the mere thought of him. Rolling back onto his belly, he forced his mind elsewhere, unwilling to give in to the arousal that was threatening his lower body.

The tactic he and Phichit had used to get the job at Nikiforov's was one they had learned several years prior in one of their joint classes. Yuuri had a singular professor that had focused on how to get hired in their competitive field, an unique caveat to the traditional Russian style cooking they were scheduled to study. He remembered Professor Yakov's gruff commands about knowing what you're worth and forcing other people to see it too. Yuuri chuckled into his pillow, remembering that Yakov was also a food critique, famous for his elaborate disguises. His most memorable and useful advice was from a guy who had crossed-dressed as an old woman, on more than one occasion. Ironically, it was both Yakov's advice and his cooking skills that were going to keep Phichit and Yuuri employed for the foreseeable future.

Flopping once again onto his back, Yuuri remembered how easy life had felt at school, especially once he had met Phichit. Now, it was about paying bills, making a name for himself, and not giving his parents a chance to regret the money spent on his education. Juggling those three objectives had been enough to escalate Yuuri's anxiety to diagnosable levels.

It wasn't that Yuuri lacked talent, quite the opposite actually. Together, he and Phichit had become an unstoppable team, able to move easily between demands of any kitchen they found themselves in. They had been offered plenty of permanent positions over the past few years, but none of them had felt right. Yuuri spent most of his life making decisions based on a gut feeling, and he hadn't found a place that gave him the natural instinct to stay.

Until yesterday, he corrected himself. The groan he let slip wasn't quiet, alerting Phichit to his state of awake and bringing his always exuberant best friend bounding into his room.

"Yuuri!" Phichit sang, twirling with his hamsters in his hand before delicately landing on Yuuri's bed. "We have work in two hours. You slept the entire day away!"

"Ugh," Yuuri responded, moving a pillow over his face. It wasn't that he didn't want to go to work, he just preferred to stay comfortably tucked into his bed until the very last minute. The weight shifted on the bed and Yuuri felt a wet nose brush his cheek under the pillow. A tiny hamster nudged Yuuri's face, begging for attention, and Yuuri gave up his fight. Flinging the pillow, he snagged the hamster, pushing up against the backboard to cuddle Phichit's furry pet.

Phichit laid across the foot of the bed, eying Yuuri carefully. "Do you think Victor is there every night?" His laughter made the hamster on his belly bounce as he watched Yuuri's cheeks flood red. "You have it bad for the boss, Katsudon!"

The use of his incredibly embarrassing nickname did not dissuade Yuuri from his desire to kick Phichit from under the blanket. "I do not." He stated the lie as matter-of-factly as he could, knowing that the flush on his cheeks would betray him.

"Yeah, ok," Phichit scoffed, "I'm your best friend. I know when you are attracted to somebody. Remember that guy from chicken class?" Phichit never properly referred to any of their culinary classes by name, purposefully confusing anyone who truly wanted to understand what they had learned in their years of schooling.

Narrowing his eyes at Phichit, Yuuri lashed out with his foot again, "can we maybe not drag out all of my skeletons today?" Yuuri swung his legs from the bed, wandering from the room to the hamster cage in the living room to place the furbaby inside. "I need to shower, do you?"

"Gotta look good for the bossman!" Phichit teased, skillfully dodging Yuuri as he swung out to punch him. Jokingly, he sashayed away from Yuuri, replacing his own hamster into the cage. "I showered this morning, while someone was being a lazy pants."

Taking advantage of Phichit's distraction with his pets, Yuuri launched himself onto his best friend, knocking him off his feet to wrestle him to the ground. "I'm going to mess up your hair, if you don't stop with the teasing!" Yuuri wiggled his fingers dangerously toward Phichit's perfectly combed scalp.

"Stop! Stop! Okay!" Phichit squealed, wiggling free and running to the safety of the couch, "no more teasing, I swear!" Climbing from the floor, Yuuri threw a skeptical look over his shoulder, knowing that Phichit would never stop teasing him as long as they remained friends. "Hey, Yuuri," Phichit's voice was slightly more timid, spurring him to turn around. "This new place, it feels right, doesn't it?" Phichit was chewing on his bottom lip, looking down at his hands. "I mean, something about it, even after one night, it feels like what we're looking for, right?"

The hopeful look was not lost on Yuuri and he nodded. His own thoughts were still a jumbled mess on the matter, so he left the room before the thoughts came tumbling from him. He could always talk to Phichit, but right now he wanted some space to think.

"We need to leave in forty five minutes!" he heard his friend call from the shared space behind his door. Yuuri grunted his response, heading for the solitude of his shower.

* * *

 

They entered Nikiforov's for a second time in two days, dressed every bit as well as the day before. Black pants had been exchanged for dark navy, but the chefs tops were as clean and pressed as they had ever been. Standing shoulder to shoulder, the two friends quietly observed the rest of the employees as they began to set up for the shift.

The schedule was simple. The restaurant opened every day at 4PM for dinner service, and at noon on Friday, Saturday and Sunday for an additional lunch service. The entire place was closed on Mondays, but could be reserved for company luncheons on that day or any other day of the week with enough notice. Yuuri would run the kitchen for each and every shift with Phichit by his side. The last seating for dinner service occurred at 11PM, which put them home between 12AM and 1AM depending on how quickly the tables cleared. Even if it turned into seven days a week, it was the type of schedule Yuuri could live with, especially without the demand of a breakfast shift.

For a place lacking in square footage, the dining area was still remarkable. The large bar took up one side of the room, made up of dark wood, detailed with gold piping. The bar stools were covered in deep green fabric, giving off a comfortable and inviting vibe. The color of that fabric was echoed in the regular seats, with small blue details woven into the larger seats' fabric, wrapping the entirety of the cushion. All of the tables were adorned with blue clothes, green napkins folded on top, with white and gold plates perched at every place setting. Glasses trimmed in gold stood sparkling at each table, highlighted from the light of the dangling chandeliers. The interior was as welcoming as it was elegant and Yuuri could tell it was the details of the place that kept customers returning, even with a series of ill-matched chefs.

Something in him felt pulled to the place, making him want to touch everything in the room in an attempt to soak up the feeling radiating all around him. It was comfortable, but formal, and somehow the word perfect didn't accurately convey how right he felt standing there. A small sigh escaped his lips, and Yuuri felt Phichit tug on his elbow.

"I feel it too," Phichit whispered, a hint of awe in his voice, "it is like being invited to the grown up table in my grandmother's house."

A giggle bubbled up Yuuri's throat, escaping before he could push it down. Nodding his head, Yuuri moved further into the room, not allowing himself to speak for fear of betraying his nerves. As they moved, Yuuri continued to take note of the staff and the way they interacted. The brightly colored boy who had greeted them the day before was dancing as he set places, receiving glares from a blond boy who looked only slightly older. In contrast, there was another boy who was working in a diligent, military-like fashion, placing table cloths and napkins on the remaining tables. He pushed his brain to remember the names of everyone he passed, knowing he was failing miserably at the task.

"Yuuri!"

The call came from across the room, stopping Yuuri in his tracks and causing Phichit to crash into his back. The friendly bartender, Chris, waved for him to approach. Weaving between the tables, Yuuri felt Phichit grazing his left arm as they changed direction across the restaurant floor. "Hi, Chris," Yuuri replied easily, thankful for the cheerful greeting when the rest of the staff had ignored them. Chris was whistling as they approached and Yuuri thought he heard Phichit begin to sing along, unable to make out the tune from either man. Shrugging, he leaned casually on the bar, watching the skilled bartender taking stock and move wine bottles into place.

"We are running low on white wine," Chris noted, jotting it down on an order form, "keep that in mind when you plan your chef's special or whatever you are calling it." He stooped behind the bar, popping back up to make another note on his form. "Also, it is Wednesday, so there is a group of older women who come in weekly. They always complain about the food, so don't take it seriously." Pausing with a towel slung over his shoulder, Chris planted both hands on the bar trapping Yuuri's elbows between them. His eyes slid over Yuuri's torso, making the chef squirm. "Do you ever go out?"

It was Phichit who answered, always ready to explore and have a good time, knowing Yuuri would squeak and turn down the opportunity. "We love to dance!" he grinned at the surprised face now angled in his direction. "I try to avoid letting Yuuri drink too much though, he gets a little…"

A hand clamped over Phichit's mouth, as an arm came around his waist, dragging him backwards away from the bar. "We go out," Yuuri stuttered, cursing when Phichit bit his finger, "depending on the company, of course." The snicker that escaped Phichit was Yuuri's first sign that he had made a mistake.

The second sign was the devilish grin that appeared on Chris' face. "I'll make it worth it, don't worry about that part." His wink paired with the seductive smirk had Yuuri practically running for the safety of the kitchen, Chris' laughter chasing his back as he went.

"Woohoo," Phichit whistled, "you walked right into that one! I bet he would be fun to hang out with though!"

Yuuri saw Phichit's focus wander to the swinging doors. The blatant sexuality of Chris paired with the silly sexiness of Phicit would certainly be worth a night out, as long as the two of them didn't end up completely embarrassing Yuuri. Phichit had a propensity for aggressive singing and PDA when he had consumed too much alcohol. Still, if he could keep his best friend under control, and not consume any alcohol himself, it would be worthwhile to spend the time bonding with at least one fellow co-worker. Although Chris wasn't exactly the one Yuuri wanted to spend time bonding with.

As if he had been reading Yuuri's mind, Victor strolled into the kitchen, looking ravishing in a button down blue shirt that made his eyes gleam in comparison. Yuuri immediately dropped the cutting board he had been positioning on the counter, the crash causing Victor to startle and run face first into a rack of hanging pans. Phichit fell against the fridge, laughing to the point of tears, muffling out some secret insults to his best friend. It was Yuuri who recovered first, sheepishly recovering the cutting board from the ground and placing it in the closest sink. "Um, sorry about that, it slipped." His cheeks set fire when Phichit snorted from his place by the fridge.

"No, um," Victor cursed his swollen tongue, an obvious byproduct of the indescribable lust he felt for his newest hire, "totally my fault, I didn't expect anyone to be in here." He went to lean on the counter, misjudging the distance and accidentally sprawling across it with his upper body. In all of his twenty-eight years, he had never felt less in control of his appendages. Victor had never been clumsy, even the year he had gained almost a foot in height, but now he was losing his balance over a man. A very, very adorable man, Victor reminded himself. Trying desperately to regain his composure, he awkwardly placed his chin on his palm, elbow planted on the shining counter. "So, ready for tonight?"

It was all Yuuri could do to keep himself from focusing on the perfectly shaped butt that was now prominently displayed due to Victor's odd stance. Willing his eyes to his knife case, Yuuri finally found the ability to talk as he removed each blade. "I believe we will be fine, Wednesday seems to be a slow day here, at least according to the last chef, so it will be a good night to start." He was proud that his voice almost sounded normal as he had progressed through the sentence. "Chris tells me there is a set of regulars that comes in on Wednesdays? Older women?"

Victor's jealous mind reacted first to the fact that Yuuri had been speaking directly with Chris. It was ridiculous for him to react like that, but Victor found it impossible to ignore the feeling in his stomach. Frowning slightly, he tried to concentrate on the rest of Yuuri's sentence. "Yes, there are eight women who come in every Wednesday. They hate everything. They always come back."

Phichit made a comment that only Yuuri could understand and he chortled. Difficult diners were one of their specialties. Glancing at Victor, he saw the confusion on the other man's face, waiting for the question that never came. Shrugging again, Yuuri moved toward the larger fridge, pulling ingredients to the counter for prepping. Phichit raised an eyebrow at Victor when he noticed where his boss' eyes had traveled, giving the man credit for at least having the decency to blush. Yuuri had a wonderful butt, everyone knew it, and it seemed to Phichit that Victor had just joined the Yuuri's ass appreciation club.

Clearing his throat, eyes averted to the ceiling, Victor tried to pretend that his new sous chef hadn't caught him checking out his new chef. "Have you decided on a special for tonight?" Victor chanced a look back at eye level when he heard the refrigerator door close.

"We are making som tam," Yuuri said, as if Victor would know what that was. When he registered the confusion on the owner's face, Yuuri nodded to Phichit. Yuuri loved food, but when it came to describing a dish, Phichit was an artist.

"Som tam is a traditional Thai food, something my mother taught us," Phichit was obviously proud of this fact, gaining Victor's full attention as he spoke, "it is a rich salad that combines the crunch of unripened papaya, hot chili spices, beans, and crab, all drizzled in a salty but savory fish sauce. It hits every one of your taste buds, before knocking your sinuses clean with pure unadulterated heat." Balling a fist, Phichit punched it into his open palm and then smacked his lips. The effect had Victor captivated, making Yuuri chuckle into his chopped beets.

"Sounds amazing," Victor exhaled the words, still watching Phichit as he pulled down his own cutting board, placing it next to his knives. When the other kitchen staff arrived, they would be assigned tasks of slicing potatoes and stirring pots. Yuuri and Phichit would have already completed all the skilled chopping, working side-by-side in an efficient, eye-catching manner. Victor found himself mesmerized by the pair of them, the way their knives flashed over the boards, a foreign language flying between them as they worked. It struck him how well they must know each other to work so well together, and he found himself wondering if there was more to their relationship. When the sous chef bumped his hip against the chef, making the other man laugh, Victor felt another twinge of jealousy pull at him. "So you are all set then?" Victor looked hopefully at the top of Yuuri's head, waiting to see if he would gain some attention before leaving the kitchen. When the brown eyes locked on him, he felt his body react in a shiver.

Yuuri paused, attempting to keep his voice even as he spoke, the alarming hold of the blue eyes momentarily interrupting his concentration. "I think," he swallowed, not lowering his gaze, "that we are all set; however…" he let his voice trail off, blinking nervously into the truncated sentence.

"Yes?" Victor all but bounced with excitement.

The motion messed with Yuuri's thoughts, causing him to shake his head, receiving another devious grin from Phicit. "If you would be okay with it, I would like to prepare sample plates of each dish for you this evening. You could set up a chef's table if you have one, or we could have a waiter serve you in your office, whichever you would prefer." Muttering under his breath, again in a language that Victor wouldn't understand, Phichit teased Yuuri about potentially cutting off a finger if Victor remained in the kitchen all night.

He was caught off guard by the request. Usually he made himself a sandwich sometime around midnight, not caring much for food since the time that he had taken over the restaurant. The excitement and worry Victor saw in Yuuri's eyes made him reconsider his immediate desire to reject the offer. Reserving himself to a night of forced nutrition, he nodded turning toward the door. "My office would be fine, as we don't have a chef's table to set up. Maybe that is an idea we can discuss at some point, if you decide to stay that is." Victor vanished through the swinging doors, leaving Yuuri to wonder why the decision to stay or go suddenly felt very one-sided.

* * *

 

"Holy shit," Mila hummed around another bite of food from her perch on the edge of Victor's desk. True to his word, Victor's newest chef had sent a sample plate of every single item he had prepared that night, including the desserts. At the seventh plate of food delivered to his office, Victor had enlisted Mila to join him in trying the dishes, knowing that he would eat the entirety of each plate and live to regret it. Currently they were splitting a sample-sized portion of a traditional fish dish that had been his mother's favorite. Victor found his chest aching, wishing his mother could taste the magic that Yuuri had produced in the form of artistically presented food. Not only was the man absolutely magnificent to look at, he could cook in a way that Victor had never experienced.

"It is like an orgasm in my mouth," Mila moaned, taking another oversized bite. Victor choked at her words, quickly grabbing his wine to chase his own bite. "We are keeping him forever, right?" Another moan escaped her as she rolled her eyes to the ceiling, savoring the last bite from the plate.

"Even if we have to chain him to the sink," Victor joked, chuckling when she smiled down at him. Food had held no appeal for him since the day he had lost his parents, but in one night, Yuuri had completely reversed this notion. Victor found himself twitching in anticipation of the next dish, almost falling out of his chair when the door to the office swung open, revealing the chef himself.

Barely getting the plate onto the table in time, Yuuri found himself wrapped in Mila's arms, stiff with alarm. "You are some sort of food god, aren't you?" she whispered the question into his ear.

Her closeness set off alarm bells in his brain and he tried to find a way to escape, relieved when she released him to inspect the plate of food he had delivered. Scratching the back of his head, aware that Victor was still focused on him, Yuuri waved an idle hand toward the plate. "This is the chef's special tonight. Be careful, it is spicy." He watched with intrigue as Victor took a large bite, waiting to see if the man would regret his decision.

The heat enveloped his mouth, blowing his eyes wide as Victor tried to hide the shock of it. Chewing slowly, his shaking hand reached for his wine glass, praying for relief. He never got it to his lips, as Yuuri sprang forward and plucked it from his fingers.

"Sorry!" the dark-haired man yelped, placing the wine glass back on the table. "You don't want to drink that, it will make the spice burn hotter." Lifting two small bottles from his pocket, he handed one to Victor and Mila. "Japanese rice wine. It pairs best with this dish despite their separate countries of origin."

Victor wanted to thank Yuuri for his consideration, but he was concerned if he opened his mouth that his scorched tongue would simply fall out of his head. Tilting the small bottle to his lips, he jolted with the quick relief that the liquid provided him. Before he could acknowledge this, another knock presented at his door.

"Pardon me," Otabek, the serious waiter who had been newly promoted from busboy stood in the doorway. "A table would like to speak with the chef. The table." The upturn in his last statement had Yuuri's eyebrows shooting into his hairline.

"Don't do it," Victor whispered, "those old bats will tear you to shreds. They don't like anything." His face was solemn as he addressed Yuuri.

Letting his chest rise and fall with his sigh, Yuuri turned to Otabek. "Lead the way." He wasn't one to back down from a disgruntle customer, no matter how many of them there were.

Victor watched him leave the office, the door finally closing allowing him to grasp at this throat in pain while Mila howled from her place on his desk. Yuuri had ignored his warning, and burned his tongue off, and he still wanted to drag him back into the office and do unspeakable things to him. Victor was sure that he needed his head examined.

"These women live to complain," Otabek didn't seem to be the talkative type so Yuuri didn't urge him to go on as they approached the dining room. Reserved to the receipt of criticism, Yuuri squared his shoulders and walked toward the table. As he approached he heard a low whistle escape from one of the grayish blue-haired women.

"Baby, you can cook and you look like that? I have half a mind to make you my fifth husband!"

Yuuri froze in confusion, gawking at the woman who had to be at least eighty years old. He was prepared to be yelled at, but being hit on by someone as old as Phicit's grandmother was outside of his wheelhouse. The compliments continued to roll off their tongues, about everything from the food, to his hair, to his butt. With every statement, Yuuri became more awkward, desperately searching for a way out of the conversation, eyes and hands twitching in every direction. The icing on the cake was the laughter coming from the bar, as he watched Chris, Georgi and the two busboys leaning against each other as the blond one recorded the interaction. "I'm very glad you ladies enjoyed your meal," Yuuri spoke formally with a slightly higher pitch to his voice, unable to handle the situation in any other way, "I hope you will come back and see us again!" He fled, letting the rest of their comments take aim at his back as he raced for the sanctity of the kitchen.

"You have to post that," Chris leaned over the bar to snag the phone out of Yurio's hands, laughing tears still running down his cheeks. "You have to admit, he is awfully adorable when he is all flustered." Minami was the only one who openly agreed with Chris, although the pink on Yurio's cheeks revealed his own thoughts. Snatching the phone back, Yurio quickly posted the video, tagging the restaurant and Victor in it.

From his office, Victor played the video, Mila leaning over his shoulder. He couldn't decide if he was more amused with Yurio's hashtags (#theyareneverthishappy #getitKatsuki #eatthefoodnotthechef) or more enamored by the adorable deer-in-the-headlights look of his chef. Either way, he smirked, the video had viral potential and he would take all the free advertising he could get


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clumsy Victuuri is my lifeline. JJ and Victor as friends makes me giggle more than it should!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope everyone is enjoying this! It is my first real AU and I'm super nervous about it, but loving how it is playing out so far. I'm the only one doing edits for my stories, so I apologize and take full responsibility for any spelling, grammar, or spacing issues!
> 
> come visit me on tumblr: n3rdlif343va or twitter: nerdlife4eva
> 
> If anyone is inspired to draw art for this (or any of my other stories) it would make my little romantic heart soar! I can't draw people (I draw Pokemon and the kwamis from ML) which means I can't bring any of my favorite scenes to life with anything but words :(. 
> 
> Thank you for the support I have received so far! It helps encourage me to keep going!

"Garnish!" Yuuri commanded, skillfully twirling plates toward Aniya. She was his only female kitchen staff member, and definitely his favorite, ranking just below Phicit in Yuuri's mind. If Nikiforov's decided not to keep him on at the end of the month, he would make a move to steal Aniya out from under them on his way out of the door. Dark hair, with a single blue streak, was pulled back tightly in a braid, which she tossed over her shoulder as she called Georgi to his orders. Although Yuuri was rarely aware of such things, he could see the obvious love flash across Georgi's face as he accepted the tray. Yuuri had also grown fond of Georgi, loving his old fashioned musings on love and relationships. The man was almost like a character out of a movie, and Yuuri had let himself imagine a grand scale love declaration between his favorite waiter and favorite kitchen member on more than one occasion. A private smile danced on his lips as he moved through the line, adjusting spices and placing out the next set of dishes.

It was ten thirty p.m. on his second Saturday at Nikiforov's and Yuuri felt alive with the efficiency of the kitchen. The restaurant floor was still packed with patrons, while the waiting area held even more anxious parties. For a second night in a row, the hostesses were forced to turn away people prior to last seating, knowing that the table turn around would extend far beyond the eleven p.m. cut off. Yuuri hadn't fallen into bed until almost three in the morning that day and it was looking like it wouldn't be much of a difference tonight.

He loved it though. Yuuri would sacrifice every minute of sleep to continue to vibrate through the remarkable kitchen he had found himself in. It had only taken a few days for them to fall into a rhythm, all six of them finding an immediate comfort with one another. They worked together flawlessly, anticipating each other's moves and producing plate after plate of intricately delicious food. In all his years, in all the kitchens he had worked in, Yuuri had never felt so at home.

Phichit's voice carried over him, taking Yuuri a second to realize he was singing. Somewhere someone had turned on music, and Yuuri, in his state of euphoric happiness, decided to let it go. He generally preferred the purity of the kitchen sounds, but with a second long night ahead of them, he was willing to see if the music would rejuvenate their energy and push them through the last hours of work. Getting caught up in the unfamiliar rhythm, Yuuri let Phichit sway his hips for him, laughing as his friend moved on to torture the dish washer. The laughter carried through the kitchen, even catching Aniya up in the joyful noise, her usual growler disappearing for a brief moment.

Victor leaned on the door jamb watching the movement in the kitchen, a position that had become customary for him over the past week. It was far more enjoyable to observe the kitchen than to be wrapped up in the hustle of the dining area. There was something comforting about the familiarity of the clank of knives against boards, plates crashing against countertops, and shouted commands across the stovetop. He had spent his life growing up in and around this room and had never seen such happiness filling the space. There were times when he could recall his parents flirting and dancing as they cooked together, but that was a hushed sort of pleasure. This enjoyment was chaotic and organized at the same time, all smiles turned toward the man in charge.

It struck Victor how electric Yuuri was, especially when he was focused on his work. The normally quiet, mostly shy chef, was a different person once the flurry of the evening began. Even after almost twelve hours of work, Yuuri looked bright-eyed and aware. It continued to stun Victor how many facets there were to this man, and he still hadn't managed to spend time outside of the restaurant with him. He was determined to change that, when his mind went blank as Yuuri moved from behind the counter, swinging his hips as he went. Victor's eyes were wide as he observed Yuuri jokingly swing Aniya into his arms, dipping her low and singing in his broken accent. He had never heard Aniya laugh before, and the sound along with Yuuri's firm grasp on the woman, made the ugly jealous part of him twist. Standing, he made to vindictively correct the behavior when a commotion at the front of the restaurant caught his attention.

"Tell Victor we're here. There is no last seating time for us!"

The voice was recognizable, even over the buzz of the crowded restaurant. Victor's friends had arrived, and he knew his poor hostess was in need of rescuing. He didn't miss the cross look that appeared on Yuuri's face as Victor flew from the kitchen, heading directly for the front of the restaurant. The group of his friends gathered around the hostess stand yelled their greetings in a mixture of languages as Victor approached them.

"My man!" Jean-Jacque Leroy stood with one arm flung over his fiancé, extending his free hand to Victor as he approached. They hugged briefly, squishing Isabella and making her giggle. "You told us to come check out this new chef of yours, but this lady won't give us a table." JJ jerked a thumb toward the hostess, shooting an annoyed look at Victor.

"I've got it," Victor winked, moving behind the hostess to speak directly in her ear. While to any onlooker it would look like he was flirting, he was in actuality apologizing for the rudeness of his friends and begging for forgiveness. The good-natured young woman giggled with his closeness and nodded when he pointed to a section on the floor map. "It's all set, I'll take you back myself." Victor plucked menus from stand, moving to the left of the room closer to the bar. As they passed Chris shouted his own greetings, exchanging high fives and brief hugs over the gold railing.

The group settled themselves around a large circular table, talking in a jumbled mess of accented jokes. Victor knew that they would order an egregious amount of food, already mentally drafting an apology to Yuuri in his mind. He promised himself that he would make it up to his chef as he settled down companionably next to Mickey. Noting Mickey's sister's glances around the room, Victor leaned over his friend to speak directly to Sara. "Mila is in the back somewhere," he saw the knowing gleam in Sara's eyes, "I haven't sat down all night. Be a doll and go tell her you are all here?" He winked at Sara as she jumped from the seat, ignoring her brother's frown. "Ay! Minami!" Victor called over his shoulder, hearing his busboy squeak. "Fetch Yuuri for me, would you?"

"Sure!" the boy yelled, grabbing his half full container of dishes and rushing to the kitchen.

Yuuri was standing at the threshold of the kitchen entrance closest to the bar talking with Yurio. "You really like ice skating?" the younger man was practically bouncing on his toes at the potential of shared interest.

"We love it!" called Phichit, earning him a glare from the busboy. Yurio clearly wasn't going to share Yuuri's attention if he could avoid it and Phichit laughed at the thought of another victim of Yuuri's obliviousness.

"We tried to go to a rink last Monday when we were off, but they have odd hours. I have been skating since I was a little kid." Yuuri liked the smile he saw on Yurio's face, it was a happy vacation from the normally angry looking downturn of the teen's mouth.

Aniya swept passed them, lifting a tray over Yuuri's head and directly into Otabek's arms. "Yurio is a trained professional. That's why he only works part-time." Aniya flicked the busboy's nose, causing a brief return of his patented scowl. "Now stop distracting the chef, little boy."

The stomp of Yurio's foot did not help his declaration that he was, in fact, not a little boy. Yuuri found it endearing, like watching a kid brother pitch a fit. "Do you compete? I would love to come watch sometime!" Yuuri placed a hand on Yurio's shoulder, feeling like the boy needed someone who didn't endlessly poke at his aggressive nature. He was relieved to see that Yurio didn't appear to want to smack him for the gesture.

"I do! You can…" Yurio whirled around when Minami appeared behind him, interrupting him by calling Yuuri's name.

Yuuri did not miss the red on Yurio's face as he turned to the other busboy. "What's up?" Yuuri looked over his shoulder into the kitchen knowing he had already spent enough time away from it. He wanted to get to know everyone on staff, and had decided that a few minutes away was doable when the angriest busboy had approached him. Yurio had been one of the hardest for him to approach, although Otabek was a close second. While Yurio generally seemed filled with teenage anxiety, Otabek gave off the impression that he wasn't all that concerned with getting to know his new co-workers. Yuuri had urged himself to continue to make the effort though, still hopeful that he would get through to both of them.

"Victor wants you," Minami grabbed Yuuri's hand dragging him into the restaurant.

A combination of Minami's statement, which was not meant the way Yuuri took it, and the quick tug had Yuuri losing his balance. He was grateful when Yurio yanked his other elbow, keeping him from landing on his face. Squeezing the younger's shoulders, Yuuri moved away, missing the blush on Yurio's cheeks. Sighing heavily, he let Minami pull him forward toward a large table of extremely rowdy guests.

In the middle of the noise, sat Victor laughing and carrying on at an obnoxious volume. His arm was slung over the back another man, shaking him slightly as Victor laughed. Something about Victor's behavior struck Yuuri as phony and he had never found the man less attractive. He far preferred the clumsy dork that fluttered around the restaurant, making Yuuri laugh with silly puns and accidental slapstick comedy. Whoever this version of Victor was, it wasn't a person Yuuri wanted to be around.

"Ah! Everyone, this is my Yuuri!" Victor extended his arm from the chair where is was resting to loop it around Yuuri's waist. Grinning up at Yuuri, a slight hesitation shook through Victor at the expression on Yuuri's face, but he pushed on. "He has single-handedly saved my restaurant!"

His heart was banging around his chest cavity as Victor's fingers clung to his hip bone, pulling Yuuri practically into the man's lap. It was a sharp contrast to his brain which was registering the knowing looks exchanging between the people at the table paired with Victor's overzealous introduction. All of it was making him feel slightly sick and he crossed his arms over his chest, resisting the urge to run.

"I resent that," Mila retorted as she sunk into the open chair next to a dark-haired woman.

Yuuri didn't miss the hands they linked under the table, although it appeared everyone else had. "I have an entire kitchen full of people who would also resent that remark," Yuuri was proud that the comment came out coldly, without a hint of the nerves he felt take over as Victor's grip tightened across his waist. His body was enjoying the touch far more than he wanted to admit in that moment.

"Well, you were certainly the inspiration," Victor's voice was lower now, more like the Victor who Yuuri had an unbelievable crush on.

The blue of Victor's eyes begged for forgiveness as he was jostled by the loud man next him. "Well, stop stalling then and bring us some food!" JJ flicked his menu back into Otabek's hands. "Dude, you know what I like, just pick anything, for my lady too." The man tossed his arm around the small woman next to him, kissing her head. Even if he was intolerable, Yuuri could tell how in love he was, which redeemed him only slightly in Yuuri's mind.

He felt a nudge on his side and silently accepted the slip from Otabek, slightly taken back by the number of items listed. The list extended onto the back of the slip, making Yuuri scared to return to the kitchen. No one had threatened to dunk his head in the sink for two whole days, when this list appeared at eleven o'clock, he was surely going to receive a new onslaught of threats. Pulling himself together, he stepped back, relieving himself of the weight of Victor's arm. "I better get to work then." Yuuri turned to go when he felt hands wrap on the edge of his jacket. Looking down, he saw big puppy-dogged blue eyes looking back at him, trying to convey something that Yuuri didn't understand.

"Are we still on for tomorrow?" JJ reached over his shoulder to grab the beer that Chris offered him. Victor swore, once again tightening his grip on Yuuri. "Damnit, Victor, you forgot didn't you?"

Silver hair bobbed as Victor sheepishly shrugged his shoulders. "There has been a lot going on!" Concentrating on Yuuri, Victor hesitantly asked, "could you be here by nine tomorrow, please? Isabella and JJ need to go over the menu for their wedding reception now that we have a real chef."

Now the apology was all but pouring from Victor's eyes, making Yuuri's knees feel weak in a way that made him want to scream. How could a singular man be so infuriating and so delectable at the same time? It was completely unfair in Yuuri's opinion. Glancing back at his kitchen, Yuuri searched for a reason to say no. The excuse died on his lips when he noticed the hopeful eyes of the bride in question. She looked so small in the midst of the group around her, and Yuuri felt the pull of a kindred spirit. Exasperated with himself, Yuuri nodded slowly, "I can be here at nine, but I'm dragging Phichit in too. If there are particular dishes that you would like to sample, please leave a list with me tonight." His heart became softer as he saw the relief register on the small woman's face. Who was he to deny a bride anyway? Yuuri secretly loved weddings and was looking forward to being involved with one, although he would probably hide this fact from Victor. "Alright, to the kitchen," the last word was swallowed up by some loud joke which caused the table to roar with laughter. Shaking his head, Yuuri slunk back to the kitchen, only pausing briefly to let himself look back at the table. When Victor mouthed "thank you" in his direction, Yuuri forced himself to shrug nonchalantly while the butterflies tickled the inside of his stomach.

* * *

  
There was something cathartic about washing dishes in a quiet kitchen, the only sound being the soft music Phichit had left playing and his own hands working through the suds. The water was hot and it had long ago soaked through the sleeves of his jacket, causing him to roll them up to finish the task. The counters were already scrubbed, the floors were cleaned, and most of the items needed for JJ and Isabella's trial had been prepped. Behind him, the kitchen gleamed with perfection, a sign of Yuuri's complete boredom during the time that he was waiting out Victor and his friends. He had refused to join them, even after personal requests had been made by Chris and Otabek. It had intrigued Yuuri to watch Otabek sit among the boisterous group, somehow fitting in and standing out all at once.

They had finally vacated the restaurant around one thirty in the morning, leaving behind a few straggling dishes and glasses. Chris had handled the linens on the table, while Yuuri had quickly scooped up the rest of the mess. He had made the decision to send his staff home, including Phichit, exactly at midnight, pushing them all out when they had volunteered to stay and help him clean. He needed them to be well rested to survive another long day, and Yuuri was itching for the solitude of the kitchen. Letting his mind drift into nothing but music and rhythmic movement, he tackled the last dishes of the night.

Victor had taken up residence against the doorjamb again, recalling Mila's joke about it starting to bow with a Victor-like impression. He had shoved Chris out of the door as soon as the table had been cleared, not letting the bartender linger. The only two people left in the building were standing several feet apart, Victor captivated by the deliberate actions of his dark-haired crush as he washed dishes, song lyrics slipping from his lips as if Yuuri didn't even know he was singing. The moments when he didn't think anyone was watching him brought out another side of Yuuri, making Victor ache to continue to discover these little nuances. Yuuri was like his personal rubix cube and he so desperately wanted to start solving the puzzle.

"Everyone's gone," he spoke barely above a whisper, moving further into the room.

Victor's voice wasn't loud but it was enough to scare Yuuri within an inch of his life. Flinging the plate in his hand into the air, Yuuri lost his footing on the water that spilled and found himself landing hard on his ass, barely catching the plate before it hit the floor. The sound that had escaped him was somewhere between a baby pterodactyl and an angry water buffalo. It was inhumane and embarrassed him to the very depths of his soul.

"I'm so sorry!" Victor exclaimed, moving forward to reach out to Yuuri. In his haste, he ignored the water on the floor. His right foot hit the puddle at a skid, slipping forward, as his left leg buckled underneath him. A flailed arm toward the sink failed to catch him as he came crashing down, landing face down on Yuuri's stomach, planted squarely between the other man's legs. The stream of Russian curse words that broke from his lips would have been enough to spur his mother to smack him. Embarrassment hindering his coordination, Victor tried hopelessly to push off the floor with his free arm. Slick suds met his hand, immediately throwing his arm wide and his body crashing back down. He moved his head to groan, realizing too late that he was no longer pressed against Yuuri's stomach, but face-to-face with the zippered fly of Yuuri's pants.

The plate Yuuri had been holding was officially smashed into pieces on the tile floor as soon as the groan had escaped from Victor, vibrating the most sensitive area of his body. He was trapped on the floor, a head of silver-hair pressed now against his inner thigh. They both attempted to move in sheer panic, tangling their bodies again and smashing into the legs of the sink which Yuuri hadn't turned off. Their bodily strike was enough to throw water over the side of the sink, soaking both of them as it cascaded over their heads. His boss' face lifted towards Yuuri's, dress shirt covered in suds, matted hair plastered to his cheeks, barely concealing his blush. Embarrassment ran head long into desire and Yuuri felt the laughter rip through him. His whole body shook with it, glasses slipping down his nose. His hysterics led to hiccups which led to further hysterics.

At some point Victor's brain had finally processed the beauty that was Yuuri's laugh and allowed his own laughter to join in. Rolling being the only safe option, Victor heaved his body over Yuuri's right leg, careful not to knock into the island. Back on the floor, arms curved over his belly, Victor gave into the madness of hilarity. He laughed until he couldn't breathe, tears streaming down his face, and his sides aching from his flexing muscles. In all of his life he couldn't remember laughing this hard, and certainly could never remember a time when he had ever been able to laugh at himself.

His kitchen floor was a mess, but Yuuri didn't care. He had been frustrated with Victor from the moment he had dragged Yuuri in front of his friends, questioning why he was ever attracted to him in the first place. In one giant mishap, Yuuri was quickly reminded why he was falling for his boss. The man looked like the picture of perfection, but was a bumbling nut when the façade faded, and Yuuri found this to be the most attractive trait he had ever encountered. Hiccups finally subsiding, he turned to face Victor who was as dashing as he was a mess. "You messed up my kitchen," Yuuri said, his joking tone also attempting to convey mock appall. His hand acted of its own accord and pushed the fringe from Victor's forehead, feeling shocks of pleasure when he touched the pale smooth skin underneath. "I insist you help me wash the dishes, since it is all basically your fault anyway," he was flirting, and Yuuri could hear his own tone, but was still in shock that he was attempting this at all.

"I suppose," Victor sighed, throwing one dramatic arm over his head, "that it is the least I can do, since I have kept you hostage all night." The dapper grin returned to his face as he gingerly sat up, examining every single place before he dared to touch it. When he made it to his feet, Victor sighed with relief, causing Yuuri to chuckle. Victor's hand came out to him, helping Yuuri to his feet and inadvertently pulling them a little too close. Both men furiously blushed, moving apart to dunk their hands into the sink.

Yuuri lifted an eyebrow in Victor's direction, "I wasn't aware that the great Victor Nikiforov knew how to do dishes." Everything felt more relaxed now that they were standing. Yuuri forced his mind away from the mental image of Victor's face pressed against his crotch, not ashamed to admit to himself that he would probably be thinking about it a lot more once he made it home. He laughed good-naturedly when Victor elbowed him in the side.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Yuuri," Victor moved hurriedly through his stack, his hands turning red from the heat of the water.

It was the way that Victor said his name that was the nail in Yuuri Katsuki's coffin of resistance. Something about the way that Victor's Russian accent elongated his name, rolling the r off his tongue, made Yuuri's skin tingle. A brief lapse in judgment had him fantasizing about what it would be like to hear Victor moan it. Choking on his own thoughts, Yuuri coughed uncontrollably, using a wet sleeve to cover his mouth. The result was a massive amount of bubbles sticking to his cheek and glasses.

Victor smiled sweetly at him, grabbing a towel off the nearby rack. "May I?" he lifted the towel towards Yuuri's face, waiting for approval. Yuuri only nodded, leaving his hands burning in the sink to remind him to stay in control. The motion was gentle and sweet, if not a bit lingering, and it left Yuuri's cheek burning. "Yuuri?" Victor was again saying his name, making Yuuri's mind bang around in the most indecent parts of his brain. "How are you getting home?"

It took a second for Yuuri to process the question. Frowning into the draining sink, Yuuri shrugged. "Generally Phicit and I use public transportation or call a car if it is too late." He didn't look up and failed to see the thoughts crossing Victor's mind.

"I can drive you if you want," Victor took a chance and put a hand on Yuuri's elbow, pulling Yuuri to face him completely, "or if my place is closer you could stay with me. Since we both have to be in here early tomorrow." He rushed the last part, losing all of his nerve halfway through the sentence.

Yuuri gulped. No matter what the implication of Victor's invitation, it was a bit too much for Yuuri on the heels of the whirlwind of a night. Within several hours he had been infatuated, annoyed, infuriated, and teetering on the edge of love, all over the same man. If he was going to get any sort of sleep, he needed to be as far away from Victor Nikiforov as possible. "Um, a ride would be nice, but I need to go to my place," he searched for the right words so as to not completely reject Victor, "I have a wedding file that I will need for tomorrow, plus I need a pressed jacket, and Phichit will worry if I'm not there." He wanted to add that his friend would also never stop torturing him if he spent the night at Victor's and that Phichit was the only one who could calm his inevitable panic attack over this night, but he kept those thoughts to himself. "Maybe another time? You know, the other thing…yup," awkward was obviously still his specialty.

Victor felt the hope flicker in his heart with a mixed sense of relief. He wanted Yuuri to want to come over, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what the state of his bedroom was at that moment let alone the rest of his house. The invitation was out there though, so as far as Victor was concerned, he had officially made the first move.

They worked together to finish cleaning the kitchen, broken pieces of the plate placed carefully in the largest trashcan. Together they walked through the restaurant, Victor shutting the lights off as he went, and finally locking all the bolts on the front door. Yuuri watched as Victor's actions became nervous as they crossed the dark parking lot and even though he couldn't understand why, Yuuri reached a hand out and linked it with Victor's. The man looked in need of comfort, and for reasons he couldn't fathom, Yuuri had decided holding hands would provide that.

The gesture was simple, but it slammed directly into Victor's heart, making his chest throb with feeling. To stall Yuuri from letting go, he moved to the passenger side of the car, opening the door to let Yuuri slide into the seat. Victor sprinted to the driver's seat, throwing himself inside and immediately locking the doors. As soon as the car was in motion, his hand sought the comfort of Yuuri's again, pulling it back into Victor's lap. The only words that were exchanged were Yuuri's directions to his small apartment. Arriving at their destination, they turned to each other, both laughing when their wrists caught on the center console.

Yuuri was the first to pull away, untangling his hand and opening the door in one motion. "Thank you for the ride," he paused, moving to look at Victor over his shoulder, "good night, Victor." He moved out of the car, closing the door before Victor was able to answer.

Rolling his passenger window down, Victor yelled, "sweet dreams, Yuuri!" feeling his cheeks blush as he saw the grin spring to Yuuri's face.

It was almost four in the morning by the time Yuuri was able to close his eyes to sleep, his alarm begrudgingly set for seven the next morning. He sank into dreams of suds, warm hands, and the future.

* * *

 

Seven a.m. came like a teenager receiving his first blow job. Yuuri slapped out at his alarm, barely restraining himself from throwing his phone across the room. He was convinced that the light breaking through his window was the work of the devil himself. His body was exhausted, and alarmingly bruised from his tumble on the floor last night. The image of his body tangled with Victor's crept back into his mind, making him smack his hand against his own forehead. He did not have time for that type of thinking. He had business to attend to and he needed to shower, eat, and consume every ounce of caffeine in the apartment if he had even a chance of being useful. His feet hit the floor and he dragged his body into the shower, sinking to the floor to let the hot water beat down on him. In a true act of laziness, he swung his hand out until his all-in-one shampoo and body wash fell from the shelf, slamming onto the floor. He lazily uncapped the bottle and dumped liquid soap on the top of his head.

It was no surprise when Phichit appeared in his bathroom, comically slipping a cold Red Bull into Yuuri's hand as he continued to sit under the pouring water. Phichit sprawled out on the bathroom floor, wearing sweats without a shirt, cradling a bowl of cereal and his own Red Bull. "Long night?" Phichit was snickering into the question, around a mouthful of sugary flakes.

"Yeah," Yuuri had finished scrubbing his skin, and was leaning against the shower wall chugging his drink. The sensation of the cold liquid in his throat was a sharp divergence from the scalding hot water that was striking his lower half. "Victor offered to let me sleep at his place." He heard Phichit choke, moving only his eyes to make sure it wasn't life-threatening.

"He did what?" Phichit's bowl was now disregarded on the floor as he pressed his face to the glass of the shower. "Tell me everything!"

Yuuri let his eyes shut as he chuckled. "I'm here now, aren't I?" The sound of Phichit's frustration shook the glass door making Yuuri chuckle again. "I took a raincheck though."

"Please tell me you did not use that word!" Phichit looked scandalized as he went back to his breakfast.

Throwing back the rest of his drink, Yuuri leaned up to shut off the shower. "No," he smiled, letting the conversation circulate in his head, "but he got the message, I think." Part of him wanted to tell Phichit every single detail, but a bigger part of him wanted to tuck it close to his heart to keep it private. His anxiety wanted him to work over every syllable of conversation, every mild touch, but his heart wanted him to preserve the memory as a happy one, untainted by the darkest parts of his mind. "Are you going to go in with me this morning? It would be easier if you are there."

Phichit grumbled about the change in subject, but said loudly, "yes, I'm coming. I need to make sure you don't burn the place down." He snagged Yuuri's towel from the rack as he stood, tossing it to his friend. "You'll give me the details later, right?"

Smiling at his damp feet, Yuuri nodded letting his hair fall over his face. He wanted Phichit's input, just not right that minute. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he followed his friend out of the bathroom, ready to endure whatever the day had in store.

* * *

 

The parking lot was as empty as it was when Yuuri had left with Victor the night before. Victor's car was parked in its normal spot, and Yuuri spotted a red sports car a few spaces down. They paid their cab and unloaded their bags, along with the large wedding binder they had put together as a project in school. It had faired them well in several of the restaurants that held large scale celebrations. Yuuri felt the hum of excitement zip through him as they moved toward the main entrance of the restaurant. He loved creating food for events, but loved nothing more than catering a wedding. When serving a large number of people, especially on a budget, the food tended to fail in quality. This was never the case with Yuuri's food and he took great pride in his reputation as a wedding caterer. Linking arms with Phichit, they flounced through the main entrance.

Yuuri promptly crashed into the back of a stern looking man in a black suit. He had never seen a larger man in his life. He was easily a foot and a half taller than Yuuri, shoulders broad as if they might tear straight through his suit jacket. Black hair, bushy black eyebrows, and a full beard added to the intimidation factor. He stuttered out an apology, quickly yanking Phichit away from the foyer, practically dragging his sous chef between the tables. Noises from the office caught his attention, and he continued his manhandling of Phichit as they changed course to move down the hallway. It was JJ's voice that was unmistakable, even from a distance. Clearing his throat, Yuuri knocked lightly on the open door.

The light that danced into Victor's eyes made his heart squeeze. The pinch on his hip told him Phichit hadn't missed it either. "Good morning," Yuuri's voice was squeaky and he cleared his throat to fix the issue, "we are going to go set up. There is a man out there," Yuuri waved his hand, unsure of what else to say. The shift in Victor's mood was remarkable.

"I'll be right back," Victor moved blindly from the room, speaking to no one in particular. JJ and Isabella exchanged a look, letting Yuuri know that they at least had an inkling as to what was going on. Reserved to being clueless, Yuuri led Phichit to the kitchen, readying themselves for the hours of work ahead.

With the only sound in the kitchen being Phichit's music and the clank of cooking utensils, Yuuri and Phichit moved as a well-oiled machine, crafting three of each selection on the sample list. It was a comfortable silence, one that had taken years to perfect. They knew each other well enough to know that until they were fully awake it was safer to communicate in small grunts and wild hand signals. Anyone watching them would have thought they had lost their minds, but they were perfectly content to work in their own ways, coming together to create final products that were magazine flawless. It wasn't until they started to serve the dishes that their voices returned, particularly Phichit who explained each dish with his creative, entrancing nature. Yuuri was happy to step aside and let his friend take the spotlight, taking the time to register each of the reactions to the dishes.

Isabella obviously loved the fish dish, while JJ had an almost pornographic reaction to the beef and potatoes. Victor contemplated each dish with an amused smile, the wattage of said smile increasing with the loud exclamations of his friends. If Yuuri had to guess, Victor was feeling a certain level of pride with every compliment. It was fascinating to watch him, Yuuri couldn't stop analyzing every hitch of breath, every uninhibited smile, and the small sounds Victor made when he was really enjoying a dish. There were few things that could really turn Yuuri into a pile of lovey mush, but someone enjoying his creations as fully as Victor was going directly to his heart. He caught himself desiring to feed Victor for the rest of his life and had to shake the thought violently from his head.

Victor was barely surviving with the sensational food sliding over his tongue and the warm eyes of Yuuri staring him down from the doorway. He may have played up his reactions a bit, even if his enjoyment was genuine, because he loved the way Yuuri reacted to them. The pink on Yuuri's cheeks and the small smile playing at his lips had Victor swooning. For a brief minute, he considered kicking everyone out of his office and kissing Yuuri until he couldn't breathe. Luckily, JJ's obnoxious evaluation of each dish was enough to keep Victor grounded in the here and now.

Arguments began between the bride and groom with regard to which dish should be served. Yuuri wanted to wrap his arms around the tiny woman and protect her from the bullying opinions of her fiancé. It wasn't that the man was being mean, he was simply using his natural volume to intimidate the others. Cracking his knuckles against his thigh, Yuuri organized his thoughts, allowing him to interrupt with a suggestion for serving multiple dishes, reassuring the bride and groom that he could handle preparing multiple options. Both of them looked pleased as they narrowed their menu to three main courses, two choices of sides, and several desserts. Yuuri was relieved to discover that a bakery was handling the wedding cake. Simple desserts he and Phichit could handle, but they had made an absolute disaster of learning how to decorate large decorative cakes.

Phichit helped him clear all of the plates, placing the menu options into the wedding binder, catching it under his armpit as they moved from the room. Yuuri had made it barely ten feet when he felt a gentle touch on his elbow. Swinging around, he discovered the small bride standing in front of him, nervously wringing her hands. Taking sympathy on the woman, Yuuri smiled gently, "did you want to change an option? I can tell him it was my mess up on the day of the wedding if you would like."

Amusement crossed over Isabella's face as her cheeks flushed pink. "No, that's okay, I'm sure the menu will be wonderful," she peeked over her shoulder, lowering her voice, "I have another question for you though." He found himself intrigued by her secretive manner and leaned in when she did. "Do you ever give cooking lessons? I can't cook at all, and I want to learn before we get married."

Yuuri could only see the top of the impeccably styled hair as he answered. "We could work out some lessons, if you have a kitchen, I can come to you. I'm off on Mondays." It was such a sweet request, Yuuri had completely forgotten that he should be requesting payment of some sort. Phichit's and his ability to save money had served them well and they were most definitely not hurting for funds, but a little extra wouldn't hurt.

"Yes, I have a kitchen," she chewed on her lip, pulling her phone from her purse, "could I have your phone number? I can text you my address and maybe you could come over tomorrow?"

"Sure," Yuuri said, giving her his number, "would noon work? I need to catch up on some sleep and we could go to the store together, giving you plenty of time for a lesson and to make a proper dinner for tomorrow night."

"Yes, that's wonderful," Isabella's fingers lightly tapped on her phone and Yuuri felt his vibrate in his pocket. She moved away from him, appearing to float across the floor with her gentle steps. He smiled at her back, pausing when she turned to look at him again. "Chef Katsuki?"

He supposed it was his title, but it sounded too formal for such a sweet person. "You can call me Yuuri, if you would like." He found that he liked her smile when it returned to her face.

"Yuuri," she smiled again, looking to the floor, "Victor likes you. Quite a bit, if I'm being honest. Be careful with his heart, he is much more fragile than he lets on." She disappeared into the office returning to her loud fiancé, leaving Yuuri standing stunned in the middle of the hallway.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Platonic cuddles are my jam. 
> 
> Isabella and Yuuri being friends make me happier than it should.

On his second day off since the time he had become a part of the team at Nikiforov’s, Yuuri found himself standing in Isabella’s small kitchen, covered in floor, apron disheveled across his chest. His cheeks ached from laughter, his hands sore from kneading overly tough pie crust and stirring countless bowls of thrown away cake batter. Next to him, Isabella had her tongue pinched between her teeth as she prepared another round of filling for the tourtiere that they had been attempting to make for the last hour. When Yuuri had researched traditional Canadian dishes, it seemed easy enough to teach a first time cook, but his assumptions had been woefully wrong. They were working through their third attempt, with Yuuri saying silent prayers as their ingredients were dwindled down to nothing.

 

He smiled at the small, determined woman next to him when she tasted her filling, jumping up and down with the result. Indulging himself, he tasted the dish as well, analyzing what needed to be added. Unlike the first attempt which had boiled into the substance that most likely killed the dinosaurs, and the second attempt which looked like something a cat would puke up, this version of Isabella’s filling was perfectly tender even if it lacked in taste. Lining up the needed spices, he walked her through the process of adding each one, explaining how she could judge which were needed without measuring. Yuuri had hated his classes where the professor cooked while lecturing instead of letting the students do the work, and he was determined to not be that kind of teacher. Although it had cost them a high quantity of ingredients, Yuuri was confident that this was the best way to teach Isabella his skills. Even if she was the first person he had ever taught.

 

It was a pleasant surprise to discover how likeable Isabella was. Yuuri found himself smiling again, thinking of the way she combined all the best parts of the three main women in his life. Isabella had the bright personality of Yuuko, a heart as big as his mother’s, and the quiet, blunt way of understanding possessed by Mari. Standing in the small space, Yuuri felt surrounded by the presence of those women, letting himself relax into the feeling. He had found it incredibly hard to resist hugging Isabella, a welcome change to how he felt about physical contact with anyone outside of Phichit.

 

A ding from behind him drew his attention to the oven. Picking up a fork, he instructed Isabella how to check the layers of the cake to see if they were ready. He turned down the heat on her pot when she bent to check the cakes. The fork came out clean and he instructed her to remove the pans and place them on the cooling racks. All of his instructions were soft, filled with anxiety of being too critical and the desire not to jeopardize his new friendship. Happiness filled him when he caught a whiff of the sweet smell of the cake. The batter had been appetizing, but the smell of a perfectly baked cake made his stomach rumble.

 

“We should eat, it is getting late!” Isabella giggled, poking him in the stomach.

 

With anyone else he would have run screaming, instead he laughed and poked her back. “Let’s get the pie in the oven, and then we’ll eat. I’ll make you my famous triple decker sandwich!” Yuuri had insisted on buying the lunch food himself, letting Isabella take on the cost of the main ingredients needed for her lesson. In the middle of the grocery store he had let go of the idea of charging her for the lessons, enjoying her company enough to make it worthwhile to just spend time with the charming young woman. Together, they filled the pie dish with the meat mixture and covered it with their sixth pie crust. Yuuri showed Isabella how to press the dough on the edges to make it adhere to the bottom layer. When it had been carefully placed in the oven, Isabella set out to clean their mess, while Yuuri checked the cake icing and began slicing veggies and meat for their sandwiches.

 

Even a simple sandwich was an art form in Yuuri Katsuki’s hands. Ever the presenter, he skillfully sliced pickles into curling shapes, before setting both plates down in front of himself and Isabella at the tiny table. Although her entire flat would easily fit inside of Phichit’s and his common room, he found the small area comforting and immediately eased into his lunch.

 

Isabella’s giggle brought his head up. “Do you always make those little sounds when you eat?” her question, like her, was sweet and without judgment.

 

Yuuri blushed as he lowered his tiered sandwich. “I love food,” he took a sip of his iced tea, noticing a spice to it that he couldn’t place. He would have to find out how she made it before he left. “A combination of something I can control, and something that can always bring happiness and comfort.”

 

“You make it sound magical,” Isabella chewed for a moment, looking thoughtful, “although I guess there is something magical about the way you do it. I couldn’t believe how good my dinner was the other night. I’ve never enjoyed anything more.”

 

Burying his face in his own plate, Yuuri felt the heat on his ears again. He had received many compliments on his dishes throughout the years and had never found a way to handle it. Opting for silence, he shrugged his shoulders, feeling his own awkwardness tightening his throat. A small hand appeared on his forearm, and he found himself meeting the kind eyes across the table.

 

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed by compliments,” Isabella wasn’t commanding him, “you have an amazing talent, embrace it!” Her little fist pump in the air encouraged him to smile.

 

Her advice was sound, and from a very genuine place, but Yuuri changed the subject anyway. “So does JJ live here too?” He was having trouble imagining the larger than life male being contained within the tiny walls.

 

“No,” it was Isabella’s turn to cast her eyes away from her lunch companion, “right now, he lives with his parents. They all moved here together when JJ came to play hockey here. He wants to get a place of our own, which I suppose we will once we are married.”

 

“But it is nice to have the alone space?” Yuuri prompted when her voice faded. If Yuuri was engaged to a man like JJ, he would need his space as well. It was even harder to imagine Isabella and JJ married than it was to imagine JJ in Isabella’s flat.

 

“Yes,” she sounded relieved at the understanding in Yuuri’s statement, “sometimes, I need to be by myself. Not because I don’t love him, but life can be pretty intense when you are dating an international hockey sensation. Sometimes, I like the solitude, it gives me time to think.”

 

He had said similar words to Phichit many times when his friend had suggested saving money and getting a one bedroom apartment. There were times that Yuuri couldn’t handle the existence of other people, it was nice to know that there was someone else in the world who felt the same way. “I like having my own space as well, although I have been living with Phichit since we graduated. He is great though, he seems to know exactly when to invade and when to leave me be.” Thinking about Phichit made him smile. His best friend was currently being dragged through Russia by Mila, and probably loving every minute of it.

 

“Are you two, you know?” Isabella wiggled her ring finger at him, the large diamond catching the sunlight sending rainbows scattering over the glass table.

 

“Me and Phichit?” Yuuri choked on his iced tea, laughing harder than he should. Phichit would probably be offended by his reaction, or pretend to be for comical effect. “We aren’t really each other’s types. Phichit is carefree and lovable, he walks into a room and literally everyone falls in love with him. He is very patient with me, but my lack of desire to socialize makes him insane. If we were dating, he would probably murder me within a week.” During a drunken night they had discussed the possibility, ending in a hilarious list of all the ways they would fail, and exactly two reasons that they would work. They had even tried to make out, resulting in awkward hysterics which never allowed them close enough to even kiss. Phichit had commemorated the night by ordering them t-shirts that read “platonic cuddling is my jam.” They both wore them in regular rotation.

 

“So,” Isabella coyly considered him over the top of her own glass, “what is your type?” There was a knowing gleam in her eye, making Yuuri squirm.

 

“Well,” he didn’t really know the answer in the matter of abstracts, and he absolutely wasn’t going to identify the man by name, “I guess, someone who is caring and understanding, who can laugh at themselves and isn’t afraid to be ridiculous sometimes. Someone who doesn’t demand participation in high-key events and is happy doing simple things together. And someone who likes to eat would be good.” Yuuri nervously chuckled, hoping that Isabella couldn’t tell that he was picturing Victor throughout his little monologue.

 

“He likes you too, you know,” Isabella giggled again when Yuuri made a gurgling noise, “he is shyer than most people realize. He has a big reputation for someone that has never actually dated anyone.”

 

He contemplated this information, trying to measure whether or not Isabella was pulling his leg. The Victor he had seen with his friends was definitely different than the Victor he had spent time with over the past couple of weeks. Maybe his reputation was a façade, but that didn’t make it any less daunting. Again, wanting to shift the subject away from himself, Yuuri posed the one question he had been too nervous to ask anyone. “What happened to his parents? All I know is that it was sudden.”

 

Standing, Isabella cleared their dishes to the sink, waiting to answer until the water was turned off. “Have you ever been to Victor’s house?” She continued when Yuuri shook his head. “It is an older house, built on a hill. Victor still lives here, he had Mila move in after his parents died because it is too big for one person. Anyway, his parents left for work one morning and his dad lost control of the car. He couldn’t stop it from plunging off the road and into the water. Victor was asleep when it happened, and woke up to the sound of the police. The car was lifted out of the water with his parents still in it. It was awful.” The small hitch in Isabella’s voice didn’t go unnoticed.

 

His heart ached for the man who he was just getting to know. How terrible it must have been to lose his parents in such a sudden and terrifying manner. Both of Yuuri’s parents were still alive, and he couldn’t imagine life without them, even if he didn’t live in the same country. The hint of tears burned at his eyes, making him self-conscious as he pressed them away with his fingertips. Standing, in an attempt to regain control of himself, Yuuri moved to pull the cake icing from the fridge.

 

Isabella watched him, judging when she should speak again. When he called her to the bowl to mix the icing, she took a chance on continuing her story. “Victor doesn’t believe that his father lost control of the car. He is convinced something else happened, although he never says exactly what he is thinking. The man that was there yesterday is a detective. A big scary detective, but he is seemingly the only one who is buying into Victor’s theories.” Isabella took the spatula from Yuuri, mimicking his motions as she spread icing onto the carefully placed first layer of her cake.

 

“That was the largest man I have ever seen,” Yuuri joked, wanting to lighten the mood. “I hope they figure it out. I’m sure it is hard for him to move on without answers.” He would never be able to deal with that type of uncertainty, and couldn’t believe how well Victor seemed to be fairing considering everything he was handling.

 

Together they added the second layer of the cake, Yuuri stepping back to let Isabella add the icing on her own. She was a fast learner which pleased him. In a rare move, he took his phone from his pocket and snapped a picture of her in action. “He smiles more, now that you’re here,” Isabella caught him off guard and he dropped his phone, barely catching it before it hit the floor. “I can tell you would be good for him,” she stood back with her hands on her hips, grinning as she examined her own work. She missed the bright red look to Yuuri’s checks as she retrieved the sliced strawberries from the fridge.

 

With the cake decorated and the pie cooling on the rack, the first cooking lesson came to its end. Armed with the recipe for Isabella’s iced tea, a new friend, and a push toward Victor, Yuuri said goodbye to his protégé, promising that he would look up recipes for the next week. Heading to the waiting car, he made a last minute decision that he hoped he wouldn’t regret. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he opened the contact list, scrolling to the very end. When the familiar voice answered on the other end, Yuuri grinned into the phone, ready to take a chance. “Hi, Victor? I am going to watch Yurio’s competition this evening, would you like to go with me?”

* * *

 

Two hours after his phone call, Yuuri bounced anxiously in his own living room waiting for Victor to arrive. Phichit tossed teasing remarks at him from the couch, lounging in his coat waiting for their ride. It had worked out inviting Victor along, since he had offered to drive and saved Phichit and Yuuri the hassle of calling for a car. His best friend had loudly complained about being a third wheel, and called Chris to invite him to join, explaining that Mila had a hot date with Sara. It confirmed what Yuuri had seen between them in the restaurant, and they both agreed that the two women made a cute couple. Chris had happily accepted Phichit’s invite, informing them that he was within walking distance to the arena and would meet them there.

 

Then the wrestling match had started. Yuuri couldn’t understand why Phichit insisted on dressing him, when he was sure that tattered jeans and a sweatshirt were more than appropriate for the event. His roommate had followed him into the bathroom while he showered, continuing his lecture until Yuuri had agreed to wear anything Phicit picked out. Sometimes it was easier to give in than to fight, especially over something that meant so little to Yuuri. He wasn’t going to tell Phichit that the khakis and deep blue sweater were comfortable, because Phichit would never allow him to wear sweats in public again following a confession of that nature. In what Yuuri had deemed a stroke of weakness, he had also let Phichit style his hair. His reflection in the window was very un-Yuuri-like and left him feeling nervous. The phone in his pocket made a barking noise, indicating a text message, and he unlocked it to see Victor’s message that he had arrived. Hooking a finger toward Phichit, Yuuri shoved his friend out of the door while he obnoxiously made kissy noises.

 

Yuuri’s face covered in a broad grin, laughter shaking his shoulders was the first image Victor was greeted with. As he processed the man in front of him, he noted the styled hair and the pressed pants. Victor was internally grateful that he had opted for dark jeans and a blue button down once he saw how nicely Yuuri was dressed. He was so distracted by the dazzling smile that he startled when the back door opened as Phichit slid inside. Disappointment danced around his heart, feeling sure that Yuuri had asked him out on a date when he had hung up the phone. The existence of Yuuri’s best friend threw a wrench into Victor’s thinking, causing him to pout briefly before catching himself.

 

“Hi,” Yuuri was breathless from laughter, or from the sight of Victor’s gorgeous face, he wasn’t exactly sure which one to blame. He noted the mildly fake smile which didn’t quite reach Victor’s eyes and wondered what was bothering him. Giving in to impulse, Yuuri reached over the center console and hugged the jacketed shoulders. “Hi, again,” he whispered into Victor’s ear, liking the way his boss shivered underneath him. Maybe Isabella was right about Victor liking him. The thought made him a little dizzy as he sat back into his own seat. Phichit reached forward in the space between the seat and the door and pinched Yuuri’s side, knowing that Yuuri couldn’t retaliate.

 

“I hope it is okay, I invited Chris to join us,” Phichit saw Victor’s eyebrows go up, “I didn’t really feel like playing third wheel tonight.” His smile was devilish as he noted the pink rising on the back of Victor’s neck.

 

“Do we need to pick him up?” Victor was busy keeping himself from jumping to conclusions. If Phichit was worried about being a third wheel, then was this a date? He glanced to his side, missing his backseat passenger’s answer as he became distracted by how stunning Yuuri looked. He had never seen him in anything other than a chef’s jacket and his breath was a little labored looking at the expertly styled man sitting in his passenger seat. “I’m sorry,” Victor felt his face heat up when Phichit snickered, “what was the answer? Do we need to pick Chris up?” The snickering in the backseat was even louder, and he saw Yuuri smirk. He forced his eyes back to the road, sighing when he realized he still didn’t know the answer to his own question. If he couldn’t keep focused, he was going to embarrass himself.

 

Yuuri felt the pinch on his arm again, wishing that he could punch Phichit without drawing attention to himself. “We don’t need to get Chris, he said he can walk to the arena. Maybe we should give him a ride home though, I don’t know anything about the safety of the area.” He let his eyes wander to the driver, taking in the dark, tight jeans and the tucked in blue shirt, all covered by a tailored jacket. Yuuri never drooled over anything but food, however, he could feel the saliva building when he realized his jaw had gone slack. _It should be illegal to be as beautiful as Victor Nikiforov_ , he thought to himself, wiggling when he felt his body begin to react.

 

 _I need to order six cases of pinot, twenty heads of cabbage, and we need toilet paper in all the bathrooms._ Victor ran his to-do list through his head, in a vain attempt to calm himself. The mere feeling of Yuuri’s eyes on him had started to affect him and his jeans were far too tight to let it go any further than it already had.

 

In the back seat, Phichit snuck a picture of the driver and passenger, capturing the blushes creeping across them both as they glanced at each other. He immediately text the picture to Mila with the caption “dorks in love.” When she sent her reply, he snorted into his hand, sending his own response promising to give her all the details in the morning.

* * *

 

The rink was far colder than Yuuri had expected and he was giving himself cramps while restraining the need to shiver. His shaking hadn’t gone unnoticed though, and Chris had promptly used it as a suggestion to buy alcohol. When Yuuri attempted to protest, Chris had pressed the warm mead into his hand anyway, encouraging Yuuri to drink it down. Phichit had whispered something in Chris’ ear that had the bartender eagerly eying Yuuri. Using all of the maturity he had, Yuuri resisted the urge to violently kick Phichit as they headed for their seats.

 

Victor had chosen not to drink as he never did when he would be driving. It was amusing him to watch Yuuri take sips that a mouse would call small, making him wonder why his date had accepted the drink at all. When he saw the shiver run through Yuuri, Victor kicked himself for not realizing how cold he was. Taking it as an excuse, he wrapped his arm around the small shoulders next to him, smiling down when Yuuri’s face tipped towards his. Every ounce of self-control that Victor possessed was put to use to resist kissing the hell out of the mead-slicked lips smiling up at him.

 

“Wait, when is Yurio skating?” Phichit was leaning into Yuuri’s side, pressing him closer to Victor.

 

If Yuuri knew his best friend at all, he would realize that the move was completely intentional. His nerves kept him from reading into it. “His division starts at 7. He said he is in the first group. The second part won’t take place until Wednesday which is why he isn’t working.” Phichit hummed his acknowledgment and went back to discussing the costumes with Chris.

 

Victor found himself wondering how Yuuri knew so much about his busboy’s skating. Yurio had been working with them for six months and Victor knew far less about the angry young man than Yuuri did. Anytime he attempted to approach Yurio, he was met with a snide comment or a biting remark, so he had gradually approached the young man less and less. It seemed that Yurio had taken a liking to Yuuri though, willingly seeking out the chef during his breaks. Mila had told him that Yurio even lent a hand in the kitchen if the dining room was slow, and that Yuuri was slowly beginning to mentor the boy. Victor felt equal parts admiration for his chef and annoyance that someone else was getting to spend extra time with him. He hadn’t quite figured out a way to ask Yuuri to spend time with him outside of the restaurant when Yuuri had made the first move. Squeezing Yuuri’s shoulders, Victor found himself saying happy thank you’s inside of his mind.

 

The first two skaters were a blur of brightly colored spandex, skating to songs that Yuuri had never heard. He had finished his drink faster than he should have and had discarded the cup into the cup holder in front of him. Between the alcohol working its way through him and the weight of Victor’s arm, he felt warm and comfortable, even while sitting on the hard plastic seat. For a moment, he allowed himself to lean into the touch, indulging in the firm press of his side against Victor’s. Yuuri couldn’t place the exact feeling, but whatever it was, it had his whole body happily singing. He scanned the ice, watching as smaller skaters picked up toys and flowers, wishing he had thought to bring something for Yurio. If he remembered correctly, there was a flower vender outside of the entrance to their seats. Planning to stop there and buy flowers to hand to Yurio at the end, he felt himself settle with the idea of a plan. Once again resuming his survey of the rink, he spotted a familiar head of blond hair. “Hey look!” Yuuri elbowed Phichit while smiling to Victor, “there’s our boy!”

 

Victor scolded himself for the pang of jealousy that he felt. It was so ridiculous for him to continue to have these little pulls, especially now when he was sitting with Yuuri so willingly flushed against his body. Pushing the feeling aside, he moved his arm only briefly, taking a last sip of his soda to prepare to clap when Yurio entered the ice.

 

“Now welcoming, Yuri Plitsetsky! Making his senior debut at the mere age of 15!”

 

The Russian woman in front of him let out a string of curse words as Victor spit his drink everywhere. While Yuuri tried to apologize and wipe the woman’s coat as she slapped at him, Chris and Phichit howled with laughter. Sputtering, Victor sat back, uttering his own embarrassed apologies. Yuuri looked at him with concern before turning back to watch Yurio skate. “What was that about?” Yuuri asked, not tearing himself away from the story Yurio was developing on the ice.

 

“When he was hired, he said he was 19,” Victor admitted, still trying to wipe the soda from his shirt. Yuuri was incredibly sexy as he intently watched their friend skate through the routine, Victor on the other hand, currently looked like a toddler who had squeezed his juice box too hard. The dark liquid was hell bent on leaving its mark on his shirt and Victor sighed with frustration. _So much for be seductive_ , he thought making himself laugh. The sound became more genuine when Yuuri joined in.

 

“I’ve never seen anyone do a spit take in real life,” Yuuri sat back, leaning his body slightly onto Victor’s. He glanced sideways and noticed the confused expression on his date’s face. “A spit take. In the movies when someone spits liquid as a reaction, the set has to be constructed a certain way, so it is called a spit take.” Although his eyes had returned to the ice, he could feel Victor looking at him. “I’m a wealth of useless information.” Springing up as Yurio hit his final pose, Yuuri screamed for their friend, dragging Phichit to his feet as well. As a group, they made so much noise that Yurio locked onto them from the ice, glaring at them.

 

“You know, I think he likes being angry,” Victor pondered, a finger over his lips, “but sometimes he can’t even get there. Look how happy he is now that he thinks we aren’t looking.” On the side of the ice, Yurio had jumped into his choreographer’s arms, widely grinning as they moved to a bench to wait for the scores.

 

“We should go down, right?” Phichit stood again, twisting toward Yuuri and wiggling his butt directly in front of Chris’ face. Yuuri rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics, noting Chris’ nod of approval.

 

“Scores first, then we’ll go down.” Yuuri leaned forward, craning his neck to look at the board. Although it was a domestic competition, which meant there wouldn’t be medals, it was still a big deal for Yurio to place at the top. When the scores flashed, he let out another yell, celebrating the fact that Yurio had currently taken over the lead. “Now we can go,” Yuuri said pointing down the aisle.

 

Thinking quick on his feet, Victor grabbed Yuuri’s arm to pull him back. “After this, would you be interested in getting dinner? I heard your stomach growling earlier.” He wasn’t trying to embarrass Yuuri, but he didn’t want him to say no. Victor didn’t want the night to end so soon, or at all really.

 

“Dinner would be great, although I hear the best restaurant in town is closed on Mondays,” Yuuri winked at him, jogging down the steps to catch up with Phicit and Chris.

 

When his heart restarted, Victor managed to move down the stairs without tripping over his own feet. He caught up to his friends in the corridor, immediately inquiring as to where Yuuri went.

 

“He found another Russian man with bizarrely colored hair and decided to run away with him,” Chris jabbed at Victor while he spoke, chuckling at the alarm on the other man’s face. “He is buying something for Yurio, you paranoid nut.”

 

Victor rolled his eyes at Chris’ comment. “And where is your date?” Phichit was seemingly nowhere to be found either.

 

“Bathroom,” Chris shrugged, looking over his shoulder, “he is damn cute, but I don’t think he is all that into me. Good guy to hang out with though. Definitely a good person to have around if I am going to be stuck with lovey dovey Victor goo. Ow!” Chris rubbed his arm where Victor had punched him, shaking his head at his oldest friend. “Hey, did you know Yurio is 15?!”

 

They were deep into the discussion of Yurio’s age when Phichit and Yuuri rejoined the group. Yuuri led them around the concessions stands, glancing at his phone as they went. Around the last corner, they spotted Yurio and called out to him. Victor noticed the panic flash over the young man, and as soon as he reached him, Victor threw his arms around his busboy. Talking directly into his ear, Victor reassured him that his age made no difference to him and that Victor would keep on pretending that Yurio was nineteen. The teen nodded into the older shoulder, a grateful smile taking over.

 

The gesture was so sweet, it had Yuuri swooning. It would have been easy for Victor to reprimand Yurio for the lie, to demand an explanation, but instead he had chosen to reassure the boy that he wasn’t angry. Yuuri had thought Victor was sexy on multiple occasions, but had never seen a sexier move from the man than his gentle acceptance of the volatile teen. An unrelenting smile took over him, and Yuuri stepped forward to present Yurio with his own congratulations, accompanied with a giant stuffed cat. Yuuri couldn’t explain what had prompted him to buy the thing, but the excitement of the younger boy made the fifty dollars worth it. He had never seen Yurio smile this much, and was glad to be there to witness it.

 

They invited Yurio to dinner with them, but his coach had hauled him in the opposite direction. Yuuri called after the boy, telling him that he would make a special celebratory dinner for him the next night, earning him another smile. He liked it when the younger boy looked happy, and decided to work harder to make it happen on a more regular basis. Excitedly accepting the hand outstretched in his direction, Yuuri wrapped his fingers into Victor’s, swinging their clasped hands as they headed for the car.

* * *

 

They had laughed their way through dinner, each taking turns telling stories about the others. It had been one of the most enjoyable meals Yuuri had ever been a part of and he found himself humming along to the radio, lost in a sense of euphoria. Phichit was singing softly in his mildly intoxicated state as the car approached the front of their building, giggling whenever he messed up the words. Yuuri could feel himself getting nervous as the car slowed, unsure what he should do next. It would be awkward to kiss Victor in front of Phichit, however, he felt like he needed to do something to show Victor what the evening had meant to him. As the car stopped, so did Yuuri’s heartbeat.

 

Sweat slicked between his hand and the steering wheel, forcing Victor to acknowledge that he was more like a nervous teenager than a grown man. He wanted to kiss Yuuri goodnight, but lacked the courage to fulfill that desire. Instead he sat frozen, hesitant to move at all in pure terror that he would screw the night up if he so much as talked.

 

Phichit launched himself from the car, moving to stand against the wall at the entrance of their building, giving Yuuri an empathetic wave. Steeling himself against possible rejection, Yuuri turned and enveloped Victor in an awkward hug, with one of Victor’s arms angled over his shoulder, while the other remained pinned to his side. “I had a great time,” Yuuri whispered into his neck, nerves practically strangling him. Using his last ounce of courage, he kissed Victor on the cheek, ducking from the car and running toward Phichit without looking back.

 

Tingles spread over his face, a ghost of sensation left by Yuuri’s cold lips. Victor drove the entire way home with one hand on his face, his head and his heart stunned by the lingering sensation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Tourtière is a traditional spiced and savoury meat pie from Quebec, made with diced or ground pork, veal, or beef. This French Canadian delicacy is typically made around Christmas time, but eclectic foodies enjoy it all year round.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anxiety for Yuuri. Grief for Victor. As always, Phicit is the best (human, friend, support system, he is everything!).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can anyone tell how much I love Phicit? My love for him is as strong as my love for the two main dorks.

When you are starting to fall in love, as Yuuri was convinced was happening, and you find yourself in a job you love even more, the entire world feels like a movie. The chances for singing and dancing are exponentially increased. Flirty words and soft touches exchanged in secret become a regular occurrence, and the constant flutter of hope invades your heart making your body feel wonderfully restless. Life appears brighter, standing on a higher plain than your ordinary world.

This is how Tuesday had passed. Yuuri had sung in the shower, a rare occurrence since the time Phichit posted a video of him online and it became just short of viral. He had danced with his roommate as they made breakfast and sent cute text messages to Victor, all before sailing into work on his happiness boat. The shift had been grueling, lines of customers barraging the restaurant, but Yuuri had made it up to his restaurant family by making a surprise dinner for them, eaten at midnight, with wine supplied by Chris and hilarious stories supplied by Victor and Georgi. Using what he had stored in the courage department of his brain, Yuuri had made an impromptu speech, not only congratulating each of them, but also announcing Yurio’s success in his skating. A special dessert had been placed in front of the embarrassed busboy, all of them singing his praises until his face was covered in red. The family that Yuuri craved was there in full force, eating together, laughing together, and acknowledging that they were all teetering on the edge of greatness. Their restaurant was a raving success, and Victor never let them forget that it was because of their efforts.

Then there had been the kiss. Victor had insisted on driving them home, letting Mila catch a ride with Georgi. Yuuri had fallen asleep curled against the seat, awaken at his front door by the gentle prod of his shoulder. Phichit had already removed himself from the vehicle, standing against the wall of their building as he had done on Monday night. Eyes fluttering, Yuuri felt breath on his cheek and a hint of Victor’s cologne in his nostrils. When Victor kissed his temple, Yuuri felt the electrocution of his skin, a sensation that rippled through him in the most pleasant of manners. They had sat quietly for a minute, looking at each other with doughy smiles, before wrapping themselves into a proper hug. The moment had brought sweet dreams to Yuuri that night, some embarrassingly leaning over into the R rating.

Wednesday had been different. Although the flirting was the same and the customers were still as happy, something had felt off. By the end of the evening Victor had looked distracted, slamming into one of the waiters and toppling four entrees onto the floor. Yuuri had rushed to his side, helping him to his feet and reassuring him that the entrees were replaceable and life would move on. Although his lips had said thank you, his eyes never smiled and Victor had walked away from him without another word. Yuuri had fought the urge to magnify and personalize the moment, throwing himself back into his work. At the end of the night, Yuuri had hugged Victor with all the force left in his tired body, receiving only a smile pat on his back and a weary smile from his normally chipper love interest.

Yuuri had tried to scrub the anxiety from his mind, washing his hair until his scalp stung. He threw himself into bed on Wednesday night, feeling sick to his stomach in a way he hadn’t felt since he had set foot in Nikiforov’s. He knew the night would be rough, but refused to take any of the available medication to combat the raging feelings. Yuuri convinced himself he could beat it on his own this time, snuggling tight into the bed and sending a final response to Victor thanking him for the ride and acknowledging that Victor was home safe. Unlike Tuesday, the messages stopped there and Yuuri prayed his brain would listen to reason and not overthink it.

On Thursday morning, he had woken with a headache that could have killed a man. When he moved, the world swirled dragging his stomach along for the ride. Yuuri let himself make inhumane noises, rolling in his bed, as his toddler-like protest to the horror that was his body. Phichit appeared briefly, leaving water, coffee, and a blue pill on his night stand. His friend had placed a calm hand on his forehead, seemingly checking for a fever, before kissing Yuuri lightly in the same place and leaving without a word. Phichit’s caring face had been a bright spot, giving Yuuri a guiding light toward relief. He swallowed the pill, downed the coffee, and then immediately repeated the action with the water. The migraine would pass faster than the rest of his symptoms and then he would be able to function long enough to prepare for work.

His dreams had been filled with images, some ridiculous in hindsight, but others pulling from the deepest parts of his anxious subconscious. The dream with Victor trying to suck his soul was outrageous, and an excellent reminder as to why Yuuri should avoid Harry Potter fanfiction before bed. The other dreams weren’t so easily willed away. Walking in on Victor tangled with Chris’ naked form was playing in front of his mind again, making conscious Yuuri wonder if he should ask Phichit about their past. Then there was Victor with his arms wrapped around Georgi, causing another question to form in his mind. It occurred to him that although the flirting between the two men had rapidly increased, all the information Yuuri knew of Victor wasn’t from the man himself. This, more than the scattered remnants of the dream, sat heavily in his stomach. How could he be so convinced that he was falling for this man when he barely knew him?

Burying his head under his pillows, Yuuri let the last of the dreams he remembered float back in. Victor stood in his mind’s eye, perfectly poised with one finger tapping at his lips, the way he did before he threw sneaky compliments Yuuri’s way. Instead of compliments, harsh words flew from his mouth. Yuuri was a failure. He ruined his restaurant. He was fat and ugly and didn’t deserve the praise everyone was giving him. The criticisms of Yuuri’s own making, ones that he had been hearing from his own mind for his entire life, came pouring out of the imaginary visage of Victor. It was too much for Yuuri to handle, and he let the tears fall as he blocked out the world with his blanket cocoon.

* * *

 

**_BANG!_ **

The plate slammed onto the counter as Yuuri whipped toward the stove, throwing ingredients into pots with terrifying fervor. He had been working in the same aggressive manner through all of prep and into the busy Thursday shift. The kitchen members had followed Phichit’s silent lead, working with their heads down and immediately reacting to every barked order. Careful to ensure that Yuuri didn’t hear him, Phichit had whispered reassuring words into all of his co-workers ears, letting them know that it would pass and no, this was definitely not normal. Yuuri’s anxiety hadn’t been left behind in the apartment that afternoon, and it was gas to the fire that was fueling him through the kitchen. It wasn’t the most pleasant work environment, but it was still full of love and care, even if Yuuri couldn’t see it. His support system was correcting his errors, shooting silent comforting looks at his back, and communicating quietly so as not to disturb him. In every way, they acted as a loving family, a fact that would be appreciated by Yuuri once he calmed down to see it.

Victor had dragged himself to stand at the door of the kitchen, seeking the comfort of his ordinary position. His Wednesday night had also been filled with nightmares, images of a car covered in rushing water, the limp bodies of his parents laid across stretchers. The Wednesday phone call had set his personal hell in motion again and he was struggling to return to reality. His bright spot, his beacon of hope, was the very angry looking man storming through the gleaming kitchen. Even in what appeared to be a blind fury, the sight of Yuuri made his heart squeal. He remembered the feel of Yuuri’s hand in his as he placed him back on his feet, and the hard embrace which had reminded Victor the beauty of his current reality. It was beyond his ability to express those feelings the day before, when his world had seemed ominous and dark, but he was determined to do it today. That was until he watched the man he adored slammed a stack of dishes violently on a table, cursing under his breath with a look of pure rage on his face. Victor should be scared, but he found himself slightly aroused instead, simultaneously wondering if that was weird.

The phone rang in his pocket, and Victor saw the glare from Yuuri as he moved from the kitchen. Perhaps it was the sound of it that had irritated the other man, Victor attempted to reason, pushing aside the thought that his presence was the cause of annoyance. Answering the phone, he heard the gruff voice of Detective Pronin. He listened carefully to every word, his heart sinking out of his body as the rough voice continued to speak in his ear, repeating the stabbing words of the day before, never letting Victor speak his arguments. Discontinuing the call, he moved blindly down the hallway and out of the back door, barely remembering to kick the rubber stop into place. The brick wall scrapped his back as he sunk to the ground, tears welling in Victor’s eyes as he let the sobs take control.

“Yuuri, guess what!” Yurio burst into the kitchen, his smile startling Aniya almost as much as Yuuri’s harsh response.

“Not now!” Yuuri snapped, never processing Yurio’s crushed face, as Phichit grabbed his chef’s arms and yanked him into the hallway.

“Alright, I have stayed quiet all day, but you just crushed a child, so out you go!” Phichit shoved him toward the back door, standing his ground when Yuuri tried to push passed him. “No! Take a break, Katsuki, get some fresh air. I’ll handle the kitchen while you collect yourself. That’s an order as your best friend and your sous chef.” Phichit shoved Yuuri’s shoulder again, daring his friend to make a move.

Whirling around, the Japanese curse words flowing freely from him as he slammed out of the back door, the rubber stopper struggling to keep it open when it smashed back into place. Yuuri banged his head against the brick wall, the image of Yurio’s fallen smile finally clicking clear in his mind. It wasn’t the anxiety that brought the tears, but the slamming guilt of how his anxiety had affected everyone else. This night was a disaster and he had no idea how he was going to repair it. In need of a dramatic release, he threw himself full body on the ground, not caring how dirty the wood planks of the unused patio would inevitably be.

“Good to know I’m not the only disaster of a human.”

The voice was soft, still causing Yuuri to scream and roll away defensively. The chuckle that followed was mild, accompanied by the scruff of moving feet. A figure lowered itself into a sitting position near Yuuri’s head. Peeking through his fingers, Yuuri found himself staring at the tear soaked face of the man in charge.

“Hey,” Victor said, waving a lame hand in his direction, “if I had known this pity party would have a guest, I would have brought wine.”

Yuuri appreciated Victor’s effort to joke, but heard the sadness coating the words. Sitting up, he scooted until his knees were even with Victor’s. It struck him then how much smaller he was than the other man, finding it appealing in a strange way. If he had wanted to, which the inappropriate half of him did, he could have crawled comfortably into Victor’s lap. The thought left him with pink cheeks as he cleared his throat. “So, what brings you to the depths of despair this evening?” His sentence was odd causing him to wince. His level of awkward sometimes reached 18th level champion status.

“Hm,” Victor let his head hang. It was difficult to talk about anything to do with his parents, usually reserving those conversations for when his resolve was weakened by strong Russian liquor and Mila’s late night prodding. A gentle hand sweeping across his head made him jump.

“You’ve been crying,” Yuuri peered up at him, sympathy washing away the fury that had biased his face for most of the day.

Victor couldn’t speak. The lump in his throat had reformed, mixed with the melting of his heart at the gentle caresses of his skin. He swallowed, reaching a hand forward to place on Yuuri’s knee. “You too,” he caught himself as he almost added a pet name to his statement. Something about Yuuri made him want to names like baby, honey, and love, which would be sadly inappropriate at this point. His heart felt all those words though, leaning into the hand that remained against his cheek.

It was hard to see the vivacious man stained with tears, his normally model-straight posture, bowed to an uncomfortable ball. It wasn’t nerves or fear that Yuuri saw in Victor’s face, instead a profound sadness turning the usual smile into a sorrowed grimace. “You don’t have to tell me,” it was soft whisper, meant to comfort and let Victor off the hook of his question, “I’ll understand if you don’t want to. You can though, I’ll listen.” Finally letting his hand drop, he wrapped his smaller fingers around Victor’s longer ones. Reassuring someone else was new for Yuuri and he had no idea if he was doing it correctly. Phichit was the master of people, Yuuri simply existed in his wake gaining friends by association. Victor was the first person Yuuri truly wanted to reach all on his own.

“My parents,” the words hit the knot in Victor’s stomach, making him pause. He sought comfort in Yuuri’s kind expression, gaining the desire to continue with each second. “They have decided to close the investigation into their case.” Saying the words aloud made them real. The sobs returned, dropping Victor’s shoulders forward with the force of them. He didn’t clarify any further, leaving Yuuri to guess the rest of the details.

Yuuri had imagined himself crawling into Victor’s lap, but instead found himself gathering the larger man into his own. It was an awkward fit and Victor’s heavier frame crushed Yuuri as the long arms flung over his shoulders. He could feel Victor’s tears soaking into his chef’s jacket, not caring in the slightest as he folded his arms over Victor’s back and held him through the storm. He whispered reassuring words into the silver hair, running his fingers through each strand as he talked.

It should be embarrassing. Victor always fled from public when he needed to cry, often suppressing the urge so that the tears never fell. In the months since his parents had passed, he could only recall crying on a handful of occasions and those were all in drunken moments, on the floor of his own shower. Now though, wrapped in unassuming arms, with sentiments being whispered against his hairline, he felt all of his grief break inside of him. Later, he would find himself embarrassed and would have to force himself not to pull away from Yuuri. In this moment though, he let all of the dams break within him, letting all the pent up misery escape in crashing waves.

They stayed uncomfortably intertwined until Mila softly called them back inside from the other side of the restaurant door. Yuuri had responsibilities to attend to, and Victor needed to straighten himself out in order to begin the accounting for the evening. After nearly twenty minutes sitting on the dark patio, they let each other go, shy nods acknowledging the moment.

Yuuri returned to his kitchen, pausing his workers to say a proper apology, and promising them a much more relaxed environment for the rest of the night. He didn’t explain what had led to his mood, and they were too respectful to ask. It had taken years, mostly due to Phichit’s willingness to tell him about himself, to get Yuuri to the point that he could apologize for his anxious behavior. There had been an incident in Barcelona, where Phichit had showed Yuuri a video taken of his erratic mood that had finally gotten through to Yuuri’s stubbornness. He was far from being able to prevent the onset, but he was now able to own up to the actions that stemmed from it. Phichit constantly reminded him that this was, at least, a step in the right direction.  

At Phichit’s direction, Yuuri sought Yurio out in the dining room, dragging the protesting teen backwards into the hallway by the office. Yurio wouldn’t look at him, a mixture of anger and hurt overtaking the teenager’s face. Yuuri’s heart throbbed knowing that it was his fault this time and not the general angst of adolescence. “Yurio, I shouldn’t have snapped at you that was horrible of me.”

“Yeah, it was,” Yurio said flatly, refusing to make eye contact. His arms were wrapped around his smile frame, fingers digging into his own elbows.

It was an impulse to hug the boy, and Yuuri went through with it, knowing that he could end up hit or worse, accused of harassment. When he felt the tiny shoulders relax, he decided it was the right decision. “Adults aren’t perfect, Yurio, we make mistakes too. I’m sorry for snapping, I was having a bad night. It wasn’t okay and I hope you can forgive me.”

Yurio snickered, “you aren’t really an adult.” The boy laughed when Yuuri pinched his elbow. “Fine, whatever, I forgive you,” Yurio’s foot idly rubbed the ground, a flawless point at the end of his leg.

The smile relaxed Yuuri’s face, “what were you so excited to tell me?” He let his hands stay resting on the boy’s elbows, surprised when Yurio didn’t shove him away.

“Oh,” Yurio burned red over all of his exposed skin, “I, um, I got first place. In the whole thing.” His shy smile brightened as Yuuri shook him.

“That’s amazing!” His excitement was genuine as he hugged Yurio a second time, “come see me at the end of the night, I’ll make you another special dessert! Everyone will be so proud of you!” Yuuri laughed when Yurio shoved him away.

“Thanks, but, Katsuki,” Yurio looked over his shoulder as he headed back for the dining room, “no more speeches, you jerk.”

The younger boy couldn’t hide his joy behind the insult, the smile still haunting his face as he made his way back to the floor. Yuuri’s heart felt lighter, only mildly confused as to how he managed to resolve his panic in the middle of so many people. A thought, brief and dissipating, told him that maybe he had finally found the right people. He ducked back into the kitchen, ready to face the remaining hours with a better attitude than the first few.

* * *

 

The car ride was silent except for Phichit’s light snoring in the backseat. Yuuri owed his friend, once again knowing that Phichit had single-handedly saved him from losing his job that night. There were remarkable people in this world, and then there was Phichit, who was better than anyone he had ever known. His eyes darted to his best friend, sleeping with a small amount of drool glistening on his chin.

Tension still vibrated through Victor, a headache dully banging against his heavy eyelids. It was torturous to complete the closing routine and it was a nod to Mila that it had been accomplished with any sort of accuracy. He really needed to give her a day off, or a very large present, to thank her for all her patience. He glanced in his rearview mirror, seeing her princess-like form, snoozing on Phichit’s shoulder. A snort escaped him when he realized she was also drooling.

The noise Victor made caused Yuuri to smile, bringing a rise to his desire to touch the man. Slowly moving a shy hand, he cupped Victor’s shoulder, rubbing into the hard muscle he found there. He was pretty sure that Victor wasn’t lifting weights in his off time, and concern painted Yuuri’s face over the stiffness found under his fingers. It hit Yuuri how much Victor must be hiding from the world, the stress of keeping it in was obviously negatively effecting his physical well-being. Massaging harder, Yuuri became determined to provide any relief he could.

Victor bit the inside of his cheek causing himself a hint of pain, deciding the pain was a better option than the pleased growl that wanted to escape him. No one ever touched him like this, strong and caring, seeking to provide him release of the strained muscles. It was as if Yuuri had some natural instinct about what he needed most, even if he would never admit needing anything at all. He let himself breath through the massage, feeling his shoulders relax in a way that they had never been.

In Yuuri’s opinion, the drive from the restaurant to their apartment was far too short. He loved the slacked look of Victor’s face and was disappointed the car halted in front of his shared apartment. Dropping his hand, he twisted around to shake Phicit out of his slumber. His breath caught when a hand grasped his upper arm.

“Thank you,” tears shone again in Victor’s eyes, but disappeared in an instant, “for everything.”

Yuuri nodded, slipping an arm around Victor’s neck to pull him into a hug. He slipped from the car, wrapping an arm around Phicit’s sleepy waist to guide his friend upstairs. Yuuri had started the day an absolute mess, and ended up providing comfort to another human. He found himself confused by the turn of events, falling into bed with a thousand jumbled thoughts, and one clear one. Victor was a mess, just like him, and tonight on the abandoned patio proved it. He didn’t need to know every detail about the man to know that he could, and was, falling hopelessly in love with him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri is still not the best with social media, and the restaurant has a hard, but hilarious night. 
> 
> Also, Yuuri and Victor continue to be dorks, but dorks who are finally moving in the right direction. 
> 
> Who is ready for the Eros Yuuri chapter? It is the next one :) (Should be posted within the next few days)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone, either here or over on fanfiction.net, mentioned Yuuri getting caught on fire. So I flambed Yuuri because it sounded like something that would definitely happen. 
> 
> No adorable chefs were injured in the writing of this chapter! (Yuuri does need a new jacket though!)

Gravel crunched under his bare feet, bringing sharp needles of pain up his leg causing him to stumble. Pulling the shirt over his head, Victor propelled himself forward, walking from the loose rock onto the winter cold asphalt. Sirens screamed all around him, the noise penetrating his physical being, making his blood pulse in time with their rhythm. Breathing heavy, he finally reached the group of emergency vehicles, the sheer mass of them overwhelming him. He began to turn toward the cliff.

The Victor that was still lying flat in his bed, sheets tangled around his legs, groaned in protest at his subconscious. The conscious part of him didn’t want to turn, didn’t want to see what was being lifted from the water. It was the part of him that never won the fight.

Standing next to a police officer, he froze in horror as the car broke free of its watery prison. The once smooth surface roared with the force of the metal being lifted beyond it, waves rushing down the sides of the vehicle. His father’s vehicle. The blue vehicle in which Victor had learned to drive. The vehicle that his father refused to replace, no matter how many miles it gathered or how many creaking noises it made. The vehicle that was now their coffin.

In dream-like slow motion, the car dangling from the crane, sweeping toward the shoreline and finally coming to rest on the rocky beach. Paramedics descended on all sides, yanking at doors with haste, although no amount of sped would reverse the outcome. When the pressure released with the first open door, bloody streams of water emptied. Victor felt his knees shake, finally collapsing when the first body was removed. His father, proud and head strong in life, laid limp on a stretcher, clothes and hair matted to the lifeless form. The sobbing started when his mother, tiny and fierce, was placed on the adjoining stretcher.

The dream never changed, and his sleeping form began to sweat knowing what came next. The interrogation, the inspection of the house, the smell of the blanket wrapped on his shoulders by a firefighter. Instead of a blanket, came a single hand. Victor startled in his dream, as did the body in his bed, scared to know who had come to change its course.

“Hey,” the voice was familiar, making Victor’s heart race. The face peering down at him broke through the clouds of the impending storm, heavenly in appearance, heart-breaking in tenderness. In a way that was impossible, Yuuri was standing next to him, pulling him to his feet. “Let’s get out of here.”

Victor sat up, in the middle of his quiet bedroom bathed in the warmth of the rising sun. For a moment, the dream mixed with reality and he swore he could see Yuuri’s smile dancing in the sunlit dust. The nightmare had come with regular occurrence since his parents had been hauled out of the waters near their home; this was the first time any part of the dream had changed. The possibilities of why ran through Victor’s head, colliding with one another in contrast, making him collapse down in dizziness. Counting, in the way his mother used to do when she was flustered, he brought himself back to calm, willing away all the images of the dream, with the exception of the bright spot of Yuuri.

There had been dreams of Yuuri since the time his talented chef had arrived in his foyer, but they had never bled into his reoccurring nightmare. It was a struggle against reason as to why Yuuri had materialized this time. His exhaustion prevented him from clear thought, and he resorted to grabbing for his phone to try for distraction. The alarm was set to ring within the hour and Victor sighed knowing it would be another night with too little sleep.

As had become habit, Victor immediately went to the restaurant’s Instagram account, reviewing the pictures that had been posted and tagged from the previous night. Friday and Saturday had been full of wild guests, including a very colorful bachelorette party that had taken a liking to Chris. He scrolled back to the first picture tagged for Thursday and began thumbing through the images one by one. There were pictures of the interior of the restaurant. He smiled at the tags calling the place beautiful and classy, knowing his mother would have loved those descriptions. There was also a number of pictures of Yuuri’s food, sometimes paired with the eye-catching plating of Phichit’s desserts. The tags on these pictures ranged from ordinary (#sodelicious #yummy) to fairly scandalous (#foodgasm #betterthansex #foodGod). Victor found himself wondering if Yuuri ever looked through these same pictures, imagining the pink flush on his favorite set of cheeks.

Victor’s favorite pictures were those of the staff themselves. Laughing pictures of Chris and the busboys, a shot that someone had captured of him and Mila observing the dining room, and a picture one of the kitcheners had uploaded of Aniya concentrating as she piped icing onto a cake. Then there were the pictures of Yuuri himself. A semi-contest had broken out among the regulars, perpetrated by Chris if Victor had to guess, using the hashtag #spotthechef. Almost any time Yuuri ventured from the kitchen, a picture was taken, by one of the other workers or by a diner, and uploaded using the hashtag. It was a guilty pleasure to look through the tag every morning, smiling to himself over the shy man with the kind brown eyes.

His perusing halted suddenly as he scrolled over a framed collage of pictures of him and Yuuri standing at the door of the restaurant’s kitchen. It had been a sweet moment, Yuuri calling his name across the room, beckoning him to come closer. Victor had struggled to keep his composure when the gentle hand had offered him a spoon, full of warm soup for him to taste, placing it directly onto his lips. It would go down in history as one of the most intimate moments of Victor’s life.

The soup itself had filled him with memories, flooding his mind with thoughts of his mother. When he asked where Yuuri had found the inspiration, a shaking hand fluttered into the pocket of his apron, removing a now-lamented card with Victor’s mother’s hand-writing. Yuuri had found it shoved under the bread slicer, choosing it as Saturday night’s chef special. Everything in Victor had begged him not to cry.

He supposed he should have known that others were watching, at the time though, it had felt like they were the only two people in existence. The gentle grace of Yuuri’s fingers on his chin, while his other hand had lifted the spoon. Hope had resonated from Yuuri, mixed with the edge of worry, which released when Victor had sighed in satisfaction. On instinct, Victor had wrapped his arms around Yuuri, hugging him close to whisper his emotional gratitude. Only his mother had made food that could spur the senses in the way Yuuri did, and there would always be a part of Victor that wished she could meet him. It was a squeezing feeling in his chest as he realized that Yuuri had brought his mother back to him, in the form of her signature soup.

Under his wavering thumb, he saw someone else’s images of them, standing close together, private smiles on their faces. His chest suddenly felt too full, and his brain clicked to a whirring pace. Instinctively he began to scroll through the comments.

“If this isn’t love, I don’t know what is!”

“#relationshipgoals”

“Awwww, you can see hearts dancing around their heads!”

By the time he reached the bottom, of nearly three hundred comments, his cheeks were aching from his delirious grin. Negativity had been scarce, barely identifiable through all the flowery praises of him and his head chef. It was the delirium that made him do it, he would reason later, as he typed in “@y-katsuki thoughts?” Before he could regret it, he threw his phone onto his bed and raced for the safety of his shower.

* * *

 

As Sunday shifts go, this one had been a nightmare. Above average customer traffic, plus the first remarkably warm day of the season had left customers with the desire to linger at their tables, leaving waiting patrons hungry and frustrated. Then there was the over-the-top series of events that would cause them all to drink as soon as the last party left.

First there was the toddler that had run loose through the restaurant, knocking into the legs of waiters and throwing chaos around like beads at a Mardi Gras parade. Yurio had finally plucked the kid up, mid-jump from one chair to another, muttering threats under his breath. According to Minami’s account, there had been more curse words in Yurio’s mumblings than he had ever heard one person speak. Saving the day, in his usual grace, Phichit offered the child a chance to help decorate his own dessert, sweeping toward the table with a tiny cake, a bowl of icing, and all the sprinkles he could find. When the parents gleefully accepted, Mila took a deep breath, hoping that they had avoided a major complaint. She didn’t resist the opportunity to snap a picture either; adorable Phichit happily playing nanny to an obnoxious brat. It wouldn’t be the caption she would use, but Victor had snorted with the accuracy of her audible description.

Second there was the unscheduled dinner party of twenty, who were all identified as carrying weapons under their suit jackets. Georgi worked their table with the aid of Otabek, both quietly praying that nothing went wrong. As a heated argument rose from one end of the table, Chris swooped in, offering a complimentary round of shots. Mila whined to Victor about the dent in the budget the alcohol would make, prompting Victor to remind her that a dent in the budget was better than a hole in the head. When they finally left, his waiters had collected the dishes, discovering rolls of bills stuffed into empty beer glasses. Despite needing to dry the currency, it was wildly opined that they should keep the out-of-the-ordinary tip and never say another word about the men.

The last, most eventful, most dangerous, but also most hilarious occurrence was the fire in Chef Katsuki’s kitchen. A dish requiring a flambe had been ordered by a snotty woman in a bad wig and Victor had taken up his normal spot by the door to watch his chef in action. Yuuri had prepped the pan, concentrating hard on the dish to ensure the safety of those around him. He had caught the presence of Victor in his periphery, adding a little bit of showmanship to his method. Everything was going fine, until Victor whistled.

That damn whistle, Yuuri would later think lying in his bed equal parts turned on and completely flabbergasted. The pan slipped, promptly catching Yuuri’s jacket sleeve in the hot red flame. A hurricane of action followed, as Yuuri spun toward the sink, Victor racing to his side almost losing an eyebrow in his failed attempt to help Yuuri put out his burning cloth of an arm. Everyone else scattered, clearing the kitchen as to not end up with charred skin of their own. Aniya had panicked grabbing the mop bucket and throwing the contents of it, soap and all, over Yuuri with Victor catching all of the splash back. They stood dripping with suds and dirty water, arms out, hair plastered over their faces, Yuuri jacket sleeve hanging in burnt tatters on his arm. Phichit returned to the kitchen, face and hair covered in icing and sprinkles. Slowly taking in the sight of the other two, he promptly burst into sobbing laughter, Victor and Yuuri joining him a breath after. Throwing arms around each other, not even attempting to control the mess of their hair, they posed for a selfie which Phichit posted to the restaurant’s Instagram.

Laughter disappeared when Phichit learned why they were covered in sudsy water, jumping to examine Yuuri’s arm by ripping the remaining portion of his sleeve off of the jacket. Victor whistled again at the exposed muscle on Yuuri’s upper arm, causing Aniya to scream at him, accusing him of doing enough damage with that godforsaken noise. Victor left the kitchen with a small pout, heading to his office to change.

At 11:15, all of Victor’s friends arrived at the restaurant, causing a group-wide groan. At midnight, when they were only on their second course, Victor dismissed all of the staff, requesting that Phichit and Yuuri stay behind to hang out with the group. Otabek, Chris, and Mila remained as well; Yuuri noted that they seemed to be a part of this eclectic group of people Victor called friends. At Victor’s urging, Phichit and Yuuri prepared meals for themselves and joined the table, laughing along with everyone as the stories of their night were retold.

Yuuri sat happily between Victor and Isabella, with Phichit across from him gossiping with Mila, elbowing Chris as they giggled and pointed to Yuuri’s jacket. It had been Phichit’s suggestion to rip the other sleeve off, which had seemed like a solid plan at the time. Regret filled him though when he felt a hand grab his arm. Peering over Isabella’s head, Yuuri raised a silent unpleased eyebrow in JJ’s direction.

“You’ve got some guns on you, chef!” JJ pinched his arm and then slapped his shoulder, making Yuuri bump forward into the table. “Nothing compared to these,” JJ flexed his own arm, making Mickey feel his muscle, “but not too shabby!”

Isabella patted his knee under the table, “you have very nice arms, Yuuri, don’t listen to him,” her soft spoken reassurance made him smile.

“I agree,” Victor spoke close to his shoulder and Yuuri could feel the goosebumps tingling as they spread over his neck, “in fact, I prefer yours.” A finger ran down the back of Yuuri’s left arm, the sensation was overwhelming and he choked on his pork chop.

“Yuuri! Man! Stop trying to die tonight!” Phichit threw a napkin over the table, hitting Yuuri squarely in the face. They exchanged playful glares over the table sticking their tongues out at each other.

An arm slid behind Yuuri’s chair, catching his breath and bringing forth another set of silent interactions between him and Phichit, including Phichit’s knowing eyebrow wiggle. Breathing deep, Yuuri settled himself back, controlling the urge to squeak when he felt Victor’s fingers running over the exposed skin on his right bicep. He wasn’t trying to die, but Victor was absolutely trying to kill him. Chancing the loss of his self-control, Yuuri let himself look at future cause of death, finding the blue eyes already aimed at his face, a lopsided smile accompanying the look. It was very, very hard not to stand from the table and drag Victor to some place where he could wipe that smug demeanor clean from his face.

**_Click._ **

Both of them jumped, separating from the closeness that they had subconsciously found themselves in again. Mila sat across the table looking very pleased with herself, discussing captions with Phicit and Sara behind their cupped hands. “Just quote any of those comments on the one from last night,” he heard Phichit encourage, confusing settling on his face.

The expression gained severity when he heard Victor chuckle next to him. “What is he talking about?” Yuuri leaned forward to continue his pursuit of his dinner, not seeing the smile falter on Victor’s face.

“Um…” Victor was a little lost for words. He had tagged Yuuri in the post over fifteen hours ago. “You have an Instagram account, right?”

Chewing slowly, unknowingly killing Victor a little more each second, Yuuri considered the statement. “Yeah, I mean,” he took a sip of his drink, placing it back down before continuing, “I have one. Phichit made me start one. I’m rarely on there though. Why? Is there something I should see?” He remained bent over his plate as Victor floundered behind him.

“The restaurant has a really cool Instagram now,” Isabella intervened when it looked like Victor was going to proceed to struggle. “I’ll show you tomorrow. You’re still coming, right?” She lowered her voice. JJ was unaware of their cooking lessons and Isabella preferred to keep it that way. It wasn’t Yuuri’s relationship, so he was following her lead. He nodded into his food, hearing her hum pleasantly in recognition.

Victor noted the exchange and the level of the comfort between the two humans to his right. He didn’t know Isabella well, despite her being scheduled to marry one of his best friends in a little under two months. Even with wedding events and dance classes, she had never really reached out to him. For some reason, Victor was getting the distinct feeling that she had reached out to Yuuri though, and the jealous nosy part of him was begging to know for sure. His question was interrupted by the strongly accented voice of Sara.

“You have to come, Phichit! It’ll be so much fun!” Sara leaned slightly onto the table, alcohol influencing her mannerisms. “Isabella! Phichit can come to your bachelorette party, right?”

“Yuuri too!” Phichit dragged Yuuri under the proverbial bus with him, and looked very haughty about it.

Isabella skimmed between the two men, Phichit’s excited face and Yuuri’s panicked one showing a striking contrast of emotion. “Actually, yes,” she spoke slowly, slipping a hand under the table to squeeze Yuuri’s knee, “I, um, think that would be fun.” He let himself squeeze her hand back, attempting to convey that he was okay with the suggestion.

“But they are men!” JJ hollered, tossing an arm over Isabella’s shoulders. Her small frame bowed under the weight of it. “If you two really want to do whatever lame stuff they have planned for Friday, that’s fine, but then you’re coming to my party too on Saturday. Fair is fair!” JJ hadn’t bothered to ask either one of them, and they shrugged at each other across the table. Yuuri figured as long as Phichit was there he could survive a night fueled by JJ.

“It’ll be more fun with you there,” Victor was back at his ear, making Yuuri’s skin prickle in a delightful way. “And you should really check your Instagram.”

* * *

 

It was almost four in the morning when Yuuri finally fell into bed, accepting Phichit against his side because Phichit always wanted cuddles when he drank. Victor had dropped them off and they had logged in another hug, a routine that was both comforting and frustrating. He was going to have to find the courage to properly kiss Victor at some point, since it was becoming increasingly obvious that Victor wouldn’t be the one to make the first move. Making a mental note to ask Isabella specifically about Victor’s dating past, Yuuri shifted to move Phichit onto his chest and prevent him from continuing to snore directly into his chin. Unable to fall asleep right away, he opened his Instagram app, Victor’s playful taunt still bouncing around his overactive mind.

The number of notifications waiting for him was staggering, leaving Yuuri with the distinct desire to throw his phone off of the bed. He didn’t generally deal with social media, only opening accounts when drunk Phichit and drunk Yuuri existed in the same space. He looked through the followers first, noting that most of the restaurant was following him now. Quickly returning the gesture, he smirked knowing they must have been confused over the only four pictures on his page. You couldn’t tell much about a person who had a couple pictures of dogs, a picture of the signature dish of his parents’ place, and a picture of his knife set when it had been new.

What caught his eye was the amount of pictures he had been tagged in. Clicking the tab furthest to the right, he had to restrain himself from leaping up in shock. Prior to their time at Nikiforov’s the only person who tagged him in pictures was Phichit. Now there were tags from other employees, the restaurants account, and a host of people he didn’t even know. There was an overuse of the hashtag #spotthechef and Yuuri felt his stomach curl in a sick way. Moving away as fast as his fingers could redirect him, he tapped the little heart, bringing up the list of notifications. Scanning it with droopy eyelids, he noticed the familiar surname, calling his attention to a post from the wee hours of Saturday morning. Using the last of his waking energy, he brought up the collage of him and Victor, standing alarmingly close outside of the kitchen.

Heart hammering in his chest, Yuuri flicked the screen, seeing Victor’s comment displayed under Phichit’s. He wasn’t exactly sure how IG worked, planning to bug Phicit about it in the morning. For the life of him, in his state of near exhaustion, he couldn’t understand what Victor wanted his thoughts on. The collage was sweet, although a little creepy, but he could feel his body reacting to the expression on Victor’s face. Over breakfast he would enlist Phichit’s help to analyze the image unwilling to attempt the task on his own. For now he settled with a simple reply. “Looks good to me! @v-nikiforov.”

Across town, Victor sleepily retrieved his beeping phone, screaming into his pillow with confusion.


	7. Dance Lessons and Drunken Soberings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also known as: somehow Yuuri and Phicit survive a night out with the girls, and Victor survives the power of Yuuri's dancing skills (barely)

Thursday began with a panicked phone call from Isabella, begging Yuuri for help. His brain was fuzzy from scattered dreams and he struggled to follow along with her disjointed story. His brain caught only the portion about JJ in the hospital, immediately jumping out of the bed, prepared to do whatever Isabella needed.

Her soft chuckles made him stop in his hurried state of dress. Slowing himself, he heard her explain that a teammate had been injured in practice, and while it didn’t seem life-threatening, the entire team including the practice squad was waiting at the hospital for an update. He had to clarify what she needed help with, finding himself regretting that he had already revealed that he was available.

Dance lessons. It wasn’t that Yuuri couldn’t dance, to the contrary he was an excellent dancer thanks to his childhood teacher, but filling in for Isabella’s fiancé sounded awkward at best. As Isabella pleaded in his ear, begging him to understand how strict their instructor was and if they postponed any more lessons she would drop them altogether. She became desperate while explaining that she needed more help than JJ and couldn’t bear the thought of embarrassing him on their wedding day. The anxiety of embarrassment was something Yuuri knew all too well, and he conceded to helping his friend, pulling the required clothing from his closet while still on the phone. With a final request to bring Phichit as well, Isabella hung up the phone promising to pick them up within thirty minutes.

* * *

 

They found themselves walking into a brightly lit studio, three walls completely overtaken by long windows. The bars for stretching ran along these windows, allowing dancers a view of the garden below. The floor boards were a dark polished wood, accented by a large black piano in one corner. The stereo system speakers, which hung in all corners of the walls were hidden behind floral arrangements and long strands of multi-colored translucent cloth. The fourth wall was covered in mirrors from floor to ceiling, making the room look impossibly long. Yuuri found himself gasping at the beauty that hid in every corner of the vast space.

In harsh contrast to the easy flow of the room itself, was the angular dance instructor, who stood with lips pursed eying the threesome as they entered the room. Her face was one of strong beauty, severe looking but alarmingly stunning nonetheless. She was the skinniest person Yuuri had ever seen, and he was convinced that a single gust of wind could knock her from her feet. Her presence was one of strength though, giving her a conflicting aura of battle-ready resistance. As she moved across the floor, it was apparent that she was a dancer, grace influencing every step.

“What’s this?” hard eyes focused on Isabella, who shrunk into Yuuri’s protective side. “Finally got rid of that boorish fiancé of yours?” There was no humor in her statement.

Swallowing, Yuuri glanced at Isabella realizing how terrified his friend was of the woman standing in front of them. “My apologies, JJ’s presence was required at the hospital following an injury of a teammate, I will be filling in for him today only.” His back was rigid as he spoke his formal words. He recalled a professor that had a similar demeanor to the dance instructor and took a chance at the formality that had broken through the former’s icy walls.

“As long as you can dance,” she flitted a hand toward the dance floor, “and the others?”

This was a question that Yuuri couldn’t answer, as Isabella had been so nervous in the car that he hadn’t pushed her, opting to sing along with Phichit to make her laugh. Putting a comforting arm over her shoulders, he wordlessly encouraged her to answer.

“Otabek is also at the hospital, but everyone else will be here.” Isabella’s voice was a ghost of a whisper, but was aided by the echo in the room.

The dance instructor nodded and walked away to adjust the stereo. “Then you two shall start. Come now.”

Yuuri shrugged at Phichit and left him standing by the entrance, holding Isabella to his side so they bumped together as they walked to the center of the dance floor. Releasing her to stretch, Yuuri felt the tug of his dress pants, hating that this lesson required a full suit. His tie felt as restrictive as the fitted fabric. “What’s her name?” Yuuri whispered to Isabella, realizing that he had no idea how to address the instructor. Isabella’s stuttered answer told him that the instructor’s name was Lilia, but she preferred to be called Madame. He was nodding and readjusting his jacket when she approached them.

“I’ll walk you through the steps once, we’ll see how you do.” Lilia took Isabella’s place in front of him, making the nerves jump in Yuuri’s stomach. Dancing with Isabella he could do, but the intense woman in front of him was another issue.

It took ten minutes for Yuuri to pick up the choreography, swinging Madame Lilia over the floor with ease. Her curt praise filled him with confidence as he waited to replace her with Isabella under his hands. “I didn’t know you could dance!” Isabella looked apprehensive and relieved, an interesting mixture playing across her petite facial features. “Please make me look good, she yells at me all the time.” Gentle laughter filled the space, as Yuuri led Isabella into the steps of her first dance with JJ.

Breathless from jogging up several flights of stairs, Mila, Chris, Victor, Sara, and Isabella’s sister, Elizabith, leaned against the entrance to the studio. Phichit approached the group, smiling broadly asking for answers about what was going on. Somewhere to his left, Mila was explaining the group dance they were required to perform at the wedding, but Victor heard it as a faint buzz instead of actual words. His entire focus was on the beautiful man, clad in a terrible black suit, leading Isabella around the dance floor.

He felt his jaw slack at the sight of Yuuri, in perfect form, lifting and dipping Isabella as if she was feather-light. She was a tiny woman and Yuuri moved with her, cradling her as if she was priceless porcelain. While to anyone else, Yuuri was succeeding in highlighting the beauty of his dance partner, it was the man that had captured all of Victor’s attention. Strength melded with elegance, grace with control, making Yuuri appear as if he was a god, dancing over the clouds feet barely touching down before moving on. Victor wanted to know what it would be like to be the receiver of that kind of hold, feel those arms guiding him from step to step.

“You are drooling,” Chris teased, pushing Victor’s chin upward in an attempt to close his friend’s mouth. The group erupted in laughter, disrupting the dancing couple and gaining them the attention of Madame Lilia.

“Hm,” she spat, “you’re late.” Lifting the remote, Madame Lilia paused the music, seemingly switching to another song. “Let’s hope your other fill-in is also a quick study. Partner up and places.”

Phichit didn’t receive the same teaching courtesy as Yuuri had, but he was luckily a much faster learner. By the second time through the group dance, he was moving perfectly in sync with Sara, grinning as if he was born to participate in the activity. Victor was another story. He had not only stepped on Mila’s foot, but had somehow managed to step on his own, knocking him forward. The brutal command to keep his eyes forward and ignore the alternate groom had Victor blushing through his hairline. The wink Yuuri tossed his way when their eyes met in the mirror was completely unfair, dislodging his memory of the steps and causing him to spin haphazardly, arms flailing above his head. When the five minute break was called, Victor sank comically onto the floor, covering his face with his arms. He knew this dance, but couldn’t perform it today to save his own life.

“Do you need some help?” The request was only mildly taunting above his head.

His brain reminded his lungs to breath as Victor peered from under his arms, seeing the glistening face smiling down at him. In the room lit by the natural rays of the sun, reflected from the sparkling mirrors, Yuuri appeared to be glowing. It was completely unfair that Yuuri was seemingly unaware of how earth-shatteringly gorgeous he was.

“Come on,” Yuuri put a hand out to Victor, shivering when Victor reached for him, “Madame, could we have the music please?” He stood next to Victor, straightening his jacket, eyes connected in the mirror. “What is better? If I move next to you or with you?”

His mind went to a very inappropriate place, bringing the blush back to his face as Victor choked out, “um, next to is fine.” Behind them, the rest of the group failed to hide their amusement.

The music filled the room, Victor heard the hushed counting next to him, realizing that Yuuri was counting in the steps for their beginning. Forcing his lungs to expand and release, Victor trained his eyes on the mirror, leaving everything hazy except his own body moving in time with Yuuri’s. The three minutes was over far too fast, Victor left blinking at the mirror unaware of the pointed directions being fired at the duo.

“Ay, Victor?” Yuuri waved a hand in front of Victor’s face, “she wants us to dance it together, your lead.” Although his posture remained dancer straight, his shaking hands revealed his anticipation.

Victor was sure that he nodded, verified by Yuuri’s shift to stand directly in front of him, hand reaching back for his own. The music filled the room again, bringing Yuuri to face him in a flourish. The steps came to Victor without a thought, his clumsiness from earlier dissipated in a cloud of attraction. There was an overwhelming sense of perfect as he used his palm to push Yuuri’s hip away from him, subsequently using his fingers to guide him back. He processed at one point that Yuuri was challenging his lead, relinquishing the control to feel a hint of Yuuri’s power. It was an intoxicating sensation, the control that Yuuri usually showed only in the kitchen, now being used to physically move Victor over the floor. He could drown in that feeling, in the fire burning deep in the brown eyes that shone into his own. Dipping Yuuri, in a way that he would disappointingly have to dip Mila, he wanted nothing more than to scoop him back up, never allowing the dance to end.

Silence fell in the studio, accented only by the heavy breathing emitting from the men in the middle of the floor. “That was something,” Lilia sounded enthralled, with the edge of her voice reverting to a dull blade, “perhaps, Mr. Nikiforov, you could show me that with your intended partner?” The slice was back, the criticism shaking Victor causing him to lose his grip on Yuuri and dump him on the ground.

His back hit the floor with a dull thud, Yuuri barely managing to keep his head from cracking on the polished wood. It was like falling from a dream. One minute he was circled in Victor’s light, praying never to escape, and the next minute, he was lying on his back, starring at the elevated ceiling. Phichit stepped around Victor, retrieving Yuuri from the floor, stealing the moment to whisper his excitement into Yuuri’s ear and promising to show him the video later. As it had done a million times since he had met Victor Nikiforov, Yuuri’s face flushed red. He took his place next to Isabella, unable to ignore the knowing gaze falling on his face. “Let’s get this over with,” he mumbled, refusing to make eye contact with anyone in the mirror as they finished the last hour of their lesson.

* * *

 

“The girls are here!” Phichit happily called as he pranced around the kitchen. It was Friday night, and after convincing Isabella and her friends to have dinner at the restaurant, Yuuri and Phichit would escape with them to finish the last of Isabella’s celebration. The idea of bachelor and bachelorette parties was foreign to Yuuri, but Chris had thankfully provided him with some insight. Humming to himself, he followed Yurio out to the table to personally serve Isabella and her friends.

A chorus of “Yuuri!” came from the table of woman who already appeared influenced by alcohol. Isabella was adorably red-cheeked and giggling, jumping from her seat to engulf him in an unexpected hug. Patting her back, Yuuri urged her back into her seat, placing a hearty portion of her favorite _s_ hashlyik served on a bed of rice pilaf. The other dishes were placed in front of each guest, as cell phones appeared out of nowhere to take pictures. Upon Mila’s drunken urging, Yuuri kneeled down posing for a picture with Isabella, who happily threw her arms over his shoulders. Feeling like a protective older brother, Yuuri bent down to Mila and asked her to make sure Isabella ate, finally retreating back to the kitchen to prep desserts for the table of giggling women.

“It seems stupid to me,” Yuuri heard Yurio’s voice as he entered the hallway, spying the younger boy standing against the wall talking to Otabek, “if they are so happy to get married, why are they celebrating being single?” The frustrated flailing of Yurio’s hands made Yuuri snicker. “What? You disagree?” Yurio’s characteristic venom had decreased in the past few weeks, but the sting was still present in his question.

“Actually no,” Yuuri paused, partially in the kitchen, “I don’t understand it either. If I was marrying the person I love, I would want to celebrate with them as much as possible. I can’t imagine celebrating without him.” There was a telling glance back toward the door of the office, and Yuuri quickly recovered by pushing through the kitchen doors and vacating the conversation.

In his office, Victor smiled into his ledgers, thinking he very much agreed with Yuuri’s opinion.

* * *

 

In the earliest hours of Saturday morning, Yuuri and Phichit were struggling to carry Isabella, Mila and Sara into the large house on a hill. The limo driver was handsomely compensated for his willingness to wait for the men to return, providing them a ride home once they fulfilled their chivalrous duties. When Isabella swayed dangerously, Yuuri sighed, hauling her into his arms like the bride she would become. Phichit was having far more difficulty with Mila and Sara as he pulled them toward the house while they drunkenly clung to one another, small attempts at kissing impeding their ability to walk.

“This isn’t what we are like when we are drunk is it?” Phichit hissed to Yuuri, breathing a sigh of relief when Yuuri vehemently shook his head. It had been a wise decision not to drink as much as the girls, and he hoped that their drunken state would mean any of the secrets revealed that night would be unremembered. Phichit’s anxious whispering interrupted his thoughts, “whose house is this? Who has a key?”

“It isn’t Isabella’s, her place is much smaller,” Yuuri looked at the other two women, receiving dazed expressions in return. “Mila, Sara, who lives here?”

“ME!” Mila screamed, drunken laughter bringing her tipping forward, caught by Phichit before crashing to the ground. “Somewheresss, I has a key!” Mila sang these words with a slur, swinging her purse like a lasso over her head. The front door opened, making Mila straighten, “Oy! Victor! Thanks! My key is losted to the abyss of my pursed!” Putting a hand over her mouth, Mila giggled, “my words are not so the bad!” This sentence struck both her and Sara as hilarious, and they once again slumped together, wavering extremely close to the ground.

“Help a guy out, huh?” Phichit looked panic-stricken as he tossed the question over his shoulder to Victor.

A shirtless Victor. Yuuri’s brain had begun to skip like a damaged vinyl record on a busted turntable. Bare feet were exposed at the end of Victor’s navy blue sweatpants, which sat eye-catchingly low on his hips. There wasn’t enough alcohol in his system to explain Yuuri’s inability to pull his stare away from the lean V that disappeared into Victor’s waistband. Shifting Isabella uncomfortably, Yuuri shoved his question beyond his desire-dried throat. “Where can I put her?” It was all Yuuri could manage, his brain moving immediately back to other matters.

“Upstairs to the right, blue room,” a very sleepy Victor muttered. It wasn’t the first time he had been awoken in the middle of the night by his dreams of Yuuri, but it was definitely the first time he had found him standing on his doorstep after such dreams. If he had been any more awake, he would have been apprehensive. Luckily, sleep still clouded his brain, as he descended the steps, taking Mila into his own care, while leaving Phicit to contain Sara. “They are going to want to sleep together, I’m sure you know,” Victor registered Yuuri walking past him, following the man’s movements with a full turn of his head. It was four in the morning, and Yuuri was walking into his house for the first time. Victor was certainly awake now.

All of their efforts were required to get the girls into their rooms, Yuuri taking the brunt of the damage, when Isabella missed the toilet and vomited partially on his lap. Once it seemed that the illness had passed, he helped her change from her dress, tucking her into a pair of soft pjs and then into the guest bed. He located her water bottle and aspirin in her overnight bag, placing both of them on her bedside table. A light knock on the door had him lifting his head.

“Here,” a still shirtless Victor held out a pile of cloth to him, “Phicit said that Bells got you pretty good.” Eyes darting to Yuuri’s pants, Victor grimaced, “yuck, take these, you can bring them back whenever.”

“Thanks, I smell awful,” Yuuri joked, gratefully accepting the clothing. An awkward moment passed as Victor continued to stand in the room. Waving his hand absentmindedly, Yuuri moved into the bathroom, happily removing his soiled clothing. The sweatpants and t-shirt were slightly too big and Yuuri had to tie the strings taut to his waist. It was delightful to be surrounded by the soft fabric, which smelled so heavily of the man he adored. Indulging himself, he lifted the neck of the t-shirt, inhaling Victor’s scent, letting it simmer in his nose.

“Everything ok in there?” Victor’s sleepy question floated through the door.

Even though he couldn’t be seen, Yuuri felt the flush of embarrassment at his actions. Gingerly retrieving his clothes from the cool tiles, he stepped from the bathroom, realizing how silly his dress shoes appeared next to the edge of the sweatpants. “Yes, thank you, I really appreciate it,” his heart fluttered at the sight of Victor leaning on the door, hair falling over his face.

“Yuuri?” Isabella’s small, but insistent call of his name had Yuuri moving to her side on the bed. “Hey,” she smiled, patting his cheek, “I always wanted a brother. Thanks for taking care of me.” She passed out, head tilting back into the pillow.

“I didn’t know you two were close,” Victor tried to keep the jealousy out of his inquiry, potentially failing, but too tired to really care.

“We are starting to be,” Yuuri bent down to kiss Isabella’s dark hair, “I’m giving her cooking lessons. Don’t tell JJ, she doesn’t want him to know.” Standing, Yuuri followed Victor into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

“That’s sweet of you,” Victor scoffed internally realizing his foolishness, “she’s a nice woman.”

“Yuuri!” Phichit hissed from the foyer, “the driver says we have to go!”

Freezing, Yuuri assessed Victor in the middle of the expansion of the hallway. Jumping forward, he grabbed the taller shoulders in a deep hug, steeling himself to take a chance. Reaching up on unsteady toes, Yuuri tried to kiss him, missing when Victor stumbled and planting an awkward kiss on Victor’s chin. Mortified at his own error, Yuuri sprang back, running full speed down the stairs and throwing himself in the back of the limo.

“What did you do?’ Phichit asked, sliding in next to him, waving out of the window to dazed looking Victor and poking Yuuri in the face.

Slumping onto the seat, Yuuri covered his head with his hands, unwilling to answer the question.

* * *

 

Breakfast was the only meal that Victor could make without a disaster erupting in his kitchen, so he carefully flipped pancakes, creating an impressive stack to present to the hung over women draped over his kitchen table. Although there was formal dining room, it was almost never used after his parents passed, and he and Mila had bought the smaller wood table for the kitchen. The gathering in the kitchen was always a familiar feeling for Victor, and he loved it, even when it was only the two of them. Currently, his view was far different, as three differently colored heads of hair laid splayed on the cold wood.

“We drank a lot,” Mila said, groaning into her elbow. “It was fun though. Did you have fun Bells?”

The shorter dark head of hair nodded in response. Lifting only slightly when Victor began placing plates of food on the table, Isabella looked at her friends with one open eye. “I’m glad Yuuri and Phichit came, they were so much fun. I think that other party was jealous of us.”

Mila snorted into her orange juice, “they definitely were. One of them tried to pay Yuuri to dance for them, I thought he was going to explode from fright.” All three of them laughed, missing the intrigued look on Victor’s face.

“Can you believe what Phichit said about them in school?!” Isabella picked at a pancake that Victor had placed on her plate. “What a way to make money!” All of them were shaking their heads, when Victor threw his arms in the air, conveying his frustrated need for more information.

“Three words,” Mila said, leaning over the table toward where Victor stood by the island, “amateur stripping night.” None of them would give any further details, leaving Victor to pout at the coffee machine.

“That one girl was really upset when Phichit told her that she didn’t have enough dangly bits for his liking,” Sara plucked a pancaked from the stack, eating it with her hands, “I have honestly never heard someone cry so loud.” More laughter, and more incredulous staring from Victor. “We get to keep those two forever, right?” It was a casual question, but it had Isabella, Mila, and Victor answering a loud yes in unison.

The three girls turned to Victor as if seeing him for the first time, whispers firing between them behind cupped hands. He watched with intrigue, caught between wanting to know what they were saying and being deathly afraid to find out. Pouring his own coffee, he set the pot down, moving toward the table slowly.

“Victor,” Isabella sat straight up, waving slightly with her hangover, “what are your intentions for our Yuuri?” The mutual joke caused them to giggle, until each woman groaned and returned to holding their own heads.

Buying time, Victor loaded his own plate with pancakes and sausage. He didn’t really know how to answer them, supposing that sweeping the man off his feet and running away to elope would seem like an overly aggressive response. Sleep had not come easy after the chin kiss Yuuri had planted on him in his own hallway.

“Answer, please,” Mila was adding syrup to her own pancake as she spoke. It wasn’t until she fixated on her roommate’s face that he felt compelled to answer.

“I don’t really know,” Victor shrugged in spite of the female groans, “I mean, I think I have all these strong feelings for him, but with the exception of a handful of times we haven’t spent any real time together outside of the restaurant.” This was the hardest fact for Victor to absorb. He had seen Yuuri almost every day since he had taken the position as head chef, spending their last two off days together. He drove him and Phichit home every night, and they stole as many moments as possible throughout their work shifts. It didn’t feel like enough though. It didn’t feel like there was evidence to support his absolute certainty that he was in love with Yuuri Katsuki.

“Does that matter?” Sara was not coy about her hand moving to Mila’s knee. “We don’t get much time together, between my skating and her practically running Nikiforov’s,” she paused to let Victor stop snickering waiting for an argument. When none came, Sara pushed on, “our relationship isn’t like everyone else’s, we can’t even be together in front of my brother, but I don’t hesitate to say I love Mila, every chance I get.” They kissed then, lips sticky with syrup, grinning like kids in a candy store.

“I don’t even know how he feels,” Victor thought part of this was a lie, but he wanted to see if they would disagree.

“We do!” All three of them chorused at once.

Isabella shook her head fiercely at the women on the other side of the table. “You should go for it, Victor, he feels the same way. A word of advice though, the two of you are on an even playing field, in every way, so let yourselves take it slow.” It wasn’t a ferocious speech of an older sibling, but Isabella got her point across. The girls moved on to other subjects, hiding the pictures they shared with each other, promising Victor to send him the good ones of Yuuri once all their phones were charged.

The topic of the previous night diverted their attention from Victor, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Tonight was JJ’s bachelor party, and Yuuri was participating in this event as well. Perhaps Victor would finally get his chance to make a move. Singing under his breath in excitement, he started the process of cleaning the kitchen, mentally preparing himself for the night ahead.

* * *

 

Both men stood in the middle of the pile of clothing, hands on hips, starring at each other. Yuuri examined the salmon pink shirt Phichit held over his own chest, nodding his head in approval. “I like that color on you, maybe with gray pants?” He snagged the discarded pants from the bed tossing them across the room where Phichit caught them.

Reviewing his reflection in the mirror, Phichit hummed in approval. “I can definitely work with this! Black shoes, right?” He neatly hung the clothes over a hanger, retrieving the black dress shoes from under the bed and placing them in the bottom of the bag. “Now for you. Blue for sure, because it is obviously Victor’s favorite color.”

Yuuri’s ears burned as he rescued a sky blue shirt from a nearby pile. “Why do you say that?” Running the sleeve through his fingers, Yuuri pondered how Phichit had picked up on a detail about their boss that he had missed.

“Duh, he is always wearing it,” Phichit had his back to Yuuri as he spoke, gathering hygiene products and tossing them in a bag. “And he had the whole office repainted blue when he took over the restaurant.”

“How do you even know that?” Yuuri spurted, laying a second blue shirt on the bed for consideration.

“Mila told me,” Phichit chirped leaning onto Yuuri’s shoulder to consider the clothing choices. “Go with the light blue one, oh!” Phichit spun away from him, knocking Yuuri slightly forward as he did. “And wear these!”

The pair of pants was a deep black, with a subtle blue stripe pattern running the length of the legs. Yuuri knew they weren’t his pants, and therefore knew they would fit with a snug tuck across his thighs and butt. “I’m going to hulk out of those, Phichit,” his voice was flat as Phichit held the pants up to his waist.

“Nonsense, you have lost weight since we have been here, and there are going to make that ass of yours look fabulous,” noticing Yuuri’s hesitation, Phichit added, “I happen to also know that Victor is a huge fan of your gluteus maximus.” To emphasize his point, Phichit slapped Yuuri playfully across the left butt cheek.

Snatching the pants from his friend, Yuuri gave him a scathing look before concentrating on his own hanger and bag. “I don’t know if you being friends with Mila is such a good idea.”

Phichit cackled as he danced around the room. “Hey, I have Mila, you have Isabella. It is only fair!”

Shaking his head, Yuuri placed a belt, shoes, clean undergarments, his cell phone charger and his toiletries bag into the bottom of the garment bag. Although it was convenient that JJ’s party would start at the bar in the restaurant, it also meant he would have to change there after a night of working in a hot kitchen. At least the shift would be shortened, he thought, letting it combine once again with his thought that is was slightly irresponsible to close the restaurant early on a Saturday night. He knew the rest of the staff had mixed reactions to the news as well, half of them excited to have a Saturday night to themselves and the other half angry over the loss of paid hours. It wasn’t his call though, so Yuuri resolved to push through as many tables as he could in the short shift and survive the rest of the evening hopefully with only mild embarrassment.

 

* * *

 

“Last table is clear!”

Yuuri heard Mila’s voice carry through the mostly empty restaurant as he was completing the cleaning of the main work counter. JJ and his friends had coveted the bar, Victor already joining them with Chris at the helm of the crazy train. Yuuri had let Phichit change thirty minutes prior, hearing his friend’s joyful giggle mixed in with the other voices. To buy himself as much time as possible, Yuuri had stayed in the kitchen, helping his remaining staffers complete the cleanup process and prep whatever items were available for the next day. He wasn’t sure how functional he or Phichit would be after their night, so he wanted a head start wherever possible.

Once his staffers were preparing to scrub the floor, Yuuri yanked his clothing bag from the hallway closet, heading to Victor’s office to change. Assuming the party would be too fun to leave, he closed the door without worrying about the lock, hanging his bag on the nearest coat rack. He sighed with relief as he stripped the sweat soaked chef’s coat from his shoulders, glad to have the stiff fabric finally separated from his skin. He lifted the hem of his sleeveless undershirt to sniff it, deciding it would indeed need to be changed as well. Pulling it over his head, he added it to the pile on the floor with his food splattered jacket.

The door banged open, causing Yuuri to release a small shriek, jumping backwards against the desk. Victor was talking over his shoulder, still unaware of the shirtless chef standing in the middle of his office. “I’ll get him!” Victor called happily back toward a faceless person in the hallway, slowly turning into the room.

There was nowhere he could go, so Yuuri folded one arm over his chest, hand clinging to his shoulder, while he shoved the other hand deep into his pocket. When his boss faced him head on, Yuuri was convinced that the redness had spread from his cheeks clear across his navel.

His mouth was dry. Victor knew Yuuri was muscular, any idiot would have paid attention to the way his forearm muscles flexed as he chopped and prepped, but he was not prepared for the beautifully sculpted body that stood before him. There was already alcohol swimming in his brain which swirled immediately with the attraction that heated his face. He had two choices: run and save himself from doing something embarrassing, or throw the man across his desk and finally satisfy all the needs that were built up inside of him.

The perky voice in his ear took away the second choice, causing Victor to scowl. “Boss, we’re all cleaned up, can we go?” Minami peeked over Victor’s shoulder when he noticed the older man’s intense facial expression. Making eye contact with Yuuri, Minami squawked, quickly whipping out his phone and snapping a picture. “Bye!” he yelled, running down the hallway without receiving a proper dismissal.

Yuuri was busy internally planning his funeral as Victor eased out of the doorway, backing himself into the hallway. “I’ll just finish changing then, k?” His voice was embarrassingly shaken as he looked anywhere but at the silver-haired object of his affection. “I’ll be out in a few minutes, I won’t hold up the party.” He bent toward his open bag, hearing the sharp intake of breath behind him, followed by the slamming of the door. Good, Yuuri snarked to himself, this won’t make tonight awkward at all. Pulling the necessities from his bag, he moved to lock the door before stripping completely, wiping his body with several wet wipes to remove as much stench as possible. He replaced his soiled clothes with the clean ones, relieved to find that the pants, although tight, didn’t seem in danger of ripping. As a finishing touch, he added cologne, which he never wore when working because he believed it messed with his sense of the food, and ran a brisk comb through his hair. Carefully, he replaced all of his belongings into the bag, slipping his wallet and phone into his pockets before exiting the office. He rehung his bag in the hall closet knowing he could retrieve it when they returned at the end of the night. On the outside, he appeared calm, but his insides were a jumbled mess of anxiety and excitement.

As he approached the bar, he was greeted with catcalls from more than one of the men. Casting a weary look at Phicit, his face faltered when his best friend flashed Minami’s picture in his face. “It is already up on the restaurant Instagram,” Phichit snickered as Yuuri blushed, “we’re going to need more than one chef’s table now!” To drive home his point, Phichit began reading some of the comments out loud to the joy of the already intoxicated men.

“Alright, alright,” JJ yelled over the hoops and hollers, “tonight is supposed to be about me! Let’s get this party started!” He slammed from his bar stool, dragging a protesting Otabek under his arm. “Does the driver know where we are headed?”

Chris winked at Yuuri, who suddenly felt an increased terror regarding the night ahead. “I’ve given him all the instructions, Mr. Bachelor, let’s go celebrate your upcoming nuptials the right way!”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Yuuri whispered into Phichit’s ear, noticing the characteristic red already making its way up his friend’s neck.

Phichit rolled his eyes, grabbing a bottle from the bar and pressing it into Yuuri’s hand. When Yuuri didn’t respond, Phichit pulled the back of his hair, tipping the bottle to Yuuri’s mouth. “You need to catch up! Nobody has to drive tonight, let’s let loose a little!” Dropping his voice low, Phichit spoke within a breath of Yuuri’s ear. “I dare you to kiss Victor tonight. For real. Not the craziness from last night.”

Shaking his head free from Phichit’s fingers, Yuuri wrapped his own around the bottle. When he noticed Victor’s stare, he quietly returned it to his lips and took a long swig. The parting of Victor’s lips, and the heavy bob of his Adam’s apple added fuel to Yuuri’s fire. If he was going to be dragged around by a group of men all night, the least he could do was drink enough to kiss his boss. Hell, the other man had already seen him shirtless in his office, how much worse could it get?

* * *

 

The answer was of course, it could get much, much worse.

They had danced their way through Russia for most of the night, being kicked out of the first club for being too rowdy and finding themselves on a loud, overly crowded dance floor in their second destination. It had been Phichit who had dragged Yuuri onto the elevated platform, both knowing that they would leave a lasting impression once they got started. Bodies flushed, control at the hands of Yuuri, the area around them immediately cleared, giving them space to move. It wasn’t until all of their breakdance moves had been exhausted, the crowd left cheering in their wake, that they left the dance floor, arms hanging sloppily around panting shoulders. Victor was on him as soon as Phichit let go, turning Yuuri to lead him back into the mass of bodies.

It started subtly, Victor pressed into Yuuri’s back, his long fingers curled into the plush hips of the shorter man. Then Yuuri began to move. A slow swirl of his hips, grinding ever so slightly back against Victor’s expectant body. They moved together, a perfect rhythm, and absolutely captivating to anyone who cared to notice. Yuuri, influenced by alcohol, ran a hand up his own chest, reaching back over his shoulder and continuing the path to graze Victor’s neck, finally resting his fingers at the back of Victor’s head. A low growl presented itself in Yuuri’s ear, encouraging him to shift, bringing his chest flushed against Victor’s. Long fingers moved to the curve of his ass, gaining hold there and making Yuuri hold back a whimper. He continued the onslaught of his skilled hips, feeling Victor’s arousal growing against his own. Hand shaking, Yuuri slid his fingers over the exposed portion of Victor’s chest, taking great time to find his place again at the back of Victor’s neck. Still moving in time with the music, bodies appearing to mesh into one, Yuuri made his final move, fingers lacing into the soft hair on the back of Victor’s head. He could hear the strained breath of his dance partner and he knew all he had to do was look up, to finally close the gap-

“Hey,” Otabek stood next to them with an unreadable facial expression. “We’re going somewhere else.” The serious young man walked away from the dance floor, unaware of what he had interrupted, his ears missing the curse words emitting from Victor.

A body crashed into Yuuri, a familiar voice hanging just above his head. “Onward!” called Christophe, who didn’t bother to apologize when Victor loudly complained. Chris snaked an arm around Yuuri’s waist, dragging him forward. On instinct, Yuuri made a move for Victor’s hand, drunkenly giggling when Victor wrapped their fingers together.

Victor was sure that the limo driver was going to kill them by the end of the night, and made a mental note to leave the man a very large tip as JJ cranked up the music to sing loudly out of the sunroof. A bump in the road shifted his focus, as Yuuri’s body slipped onto his. He slid a smooth arm around the small but muscular shoulders, not daring to look at his seat mate. Lightning struck in his brain when a small hand rested on his thigh, applying pressure with needing fingers. Whatever was left of Victor’s self-control was flying from the vehicle, faster than JJ’s rap lyrics.

On the third stop of the night, the party found themselves inside of a large bar with stages interspersed throughout the dance floor. Lights flashing from the ceiling were the only illumination in the room. They had been informed that it was amateur night, so all the stages were open to anyone who wanted to perform as no professional dancers were scheduled for the evening. Chris’ eyes twinkled with his previous knowledge of this fact, urged on by the encouragement of the party of drunken men. The bar had a mix of men and women, none of which seemed to care about the other parties. Leading them to a set of chairs near the furthest stage from the entrance, Chris immediately called for a waitress as they all stumbled into seats. Bottles appeared in front of them, being opened before they could even hit the table. An hour ago, Yuuri had realized how much alcohol he had consumed. Seconds after that, he had decided not to care, and kept drinking. Now, he was using the wall for support, knowing that if he sat down he would immediately pass out in a pile of drool and sweat.

Phichit was wasted, singing loudly with his arm wrapped tightly around a man Yuuri had just met. His name was Leo and despite Phichit’s increasingly off-key lyrics, the brown-haired man looked completely smitten with Yuuri’s best friend. Accepting the drink that was offered to him, Yuuri lifted his gaze momentarily to find Victor standing inches from his face. Alcohol had brought a permanent pink splash to his cheeks, his normally sleek hair, flopping in mild tangles across his cheek. If anything, Yuuri found him to be even more attractive now than Victor was in his precisely tailored normal state of being. Inhibitions tossed out the window, Yuuri ran a finger down the Victor’s chest, hooking it in his pocket and pulling him forward flush to Yuuri’s chest. They stayed staring at one another until Phicit’s voice broke through the tension.

“Yuuri can do it!” Phichit was at the edge of the stage, speaking to Chris, but pointing a knowing finger in Yuuri’s direction. “You should see him! He is practically a professional.”

In the time that it took for Chris to leap from the stage, and saunter toward Yuuri, he put together what was being proposed. Butterflies danced in his stomach, heavily influenced by the free-flowing alcohol. When Chris laced his fingers around Yuuri’s wrist, Yuuri focused hard on Victor before he let himself be pulled away. “Don’t take your eyes off me,” he commanded, leaving his boss knocked free of his ability to respond.

The stage was clean, free of any spills or debris, and the pole looked newly cleaned as well. He heard Chris’ snicker as the music changed, moving to something slow and sultry. The lights were dark, their bodies highlighted only by the circling neon lights that changed with the beat of the song. Yuuri watched as the bartender slowly unbuttoned his own shirt, flirting shamelessly with the men gathered around their stage. Victor stood quietly, his drink shaking slightly in his hand, eyes never leaving Yuuri as he began to relieve himself of his light blue dress shirt. Spurred by the desire he could see reflecting in Victor’s eyes, he tossed it over Victor’s head, directly into Phichit’s waiting arms. It was Phichit’s shirt, after all, he should have a right to keep it from being ripped. The hands on his abdomen startled him, and Yuuri looked over his shoulder to see Chris moving behind him, lifting the hem of his undershirt. Obliging the request, Yuuri stretched his arms above his head, letting the fabric slip free over his arms. Shoes and belts left their bodies next, followed quickly by pants. When he stood in his tight black boxer briefs, Yuuri threw a final glance over his shoulder, winking at Victor as he tossed his body onto the pole.

Victor couldn’t be sure when he had left his body, but he knew that he was no longer functioning as a whole person. It had been a shock to discover Yuuri shirtless in his office, knocking most of the rational thoughts out of his mind at that point. As the night progressed, he watched as the alcohol blush reddened Yuuri’s skin. The alcohol loosened the younger man’s insecurities and caused him to flirt openly with Victor as they danced together in a slow grind of want and need. His self-control had reached its limit when Yuuri had yanked on his shirt, and he was pretty sure that the only thing keeping him from immediately devouring the man was that Phichit would probably take a picture of it. Then, when Victor thought it couldn’t get any harder to resist him, Yuuri had followed Chris to the stage, removing every article of clothing from his body except a very tight pair of black underwear. Victor’s brain didn’t have a decent thought left in it.

Then he began to move and Victor was convinced he was going to die right there in the middle of the sleazy club. Yuuri wound himself around the pole, muscles rippling over every part of his body. Chris was right there with him, hands moving over Yuuri’s skin, making Victor want to punch his oldest friend directly in the nuts. Someone threw a bottle of champagne, which Yuuri caught, drinking directly from the bottle before pouring it over his own chest. Victor had the distinct urge to hop on the stage and lick every drop of it off of him. He was desperate to escape the slow death, but couldn’t pull his eyes away.

“You should just go for it,” Phichit was talking into the back of his head, but Victor couldn’t tear his eyes away from Yuuri. No matter what Chris did on the stage, Yuuri hadn’t stopped looking at Victor either. “He feels the same way, you know.” Phichit’s speech was slurred, but his words were clear enough to demand Victor’s attention. If Yuuri would just get off that damn stage, Victor would show him exactly how he was feeling.

Lowering himself to the ground, Yuuri bowed as the party cheered, intermingled with the other club hoppers that had joined their group. Chris tried to pull him back, but Yuuri shook him off, walking across the stage toward Victor. Leaning down, he looped his finger in the open V of Victor’s shirt, guiding him forward. He could feel the startled breath escaping from Victor’s perfect mouth and Yuuri could no longer resist the urge to press his lips down.

The kiss was sloppy, hampered by raw need and too much alcohol. Hands flew over skin and hair, as the group howled around them. Yuuri wanted to melt in Victor, stay there until their bodies had fused into one monstrous beast, but his stomach had other plans. Roughly, he shoved Victor from him, grabbing Phichit’s arm, thankful that his best friend seemed to be in possession of all his clothes, as he ran for the bathroom determined to make it to the toilet before he vomited.

Victor was rooted to his spot. It wasn’t a first kiss they would be able to tell their grandchildren about, hell he wasn’t even sure either of them would remember it in the morning, but it was enough. Enough to tell Victor that Yuuri was attracted to him, enough to think that he had a chance with the man he had been pining over for weeks.

He never got a chance to explore those thoughts, as he watched Phichit with a passed out Yuuri thrown over his shoulder, disappear from the bar and into the back of a cab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shashlyik is a Russian lamb Kehbab. 
> 
> Would anyone be interested in a recipe list for this story?? If so, let me know and I'll post one to my Tumblr (n3rdlif343va)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever woken up after a night of drinking and analyzed your actions from a sober point of view? It is not usually pretty. Luckily, these two wonderfully sweet, anxious men, have friends that won't let them get too far off course. 
> 
> Also see: Victor is a romantic, wonderful mess and Yuuri wants to be. 
> 
> "Victor finger-gunning-winking-with-both-eyes Nikiforov" exists in this chapter. God help him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end! There are at least 2-3 more chapters left in this story, depending on how I end up spacing them out. 
> 
> I will edit this note before the end of the day to include the link to the recipe list! 
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who has supported this AU! I know that it is a different type of AU so I really, really appreciate everyone who has taken the chance on it!

Dying. Yuuri was dying. And whatever hellhound was dragging him into the underbelly of that death, was doing so by banging his head on every rock in its path. The swimming feeling in his stomach kept him pinned to the bed, unable to fight as his very being was dragged to the depths of hell, leaving his dignity in shreds as he went.

The night only came back to him in snippets, as he lay dazed and partially awake with Phichit clinging to his back. His clothing was somewhere, his only covering his boxer briefs, which he realized were clean, as the ones he had worn the night before were black and these were a powder blue. He moaned with the feeling of his best friend’s hot breath on the back of his neck. It would always amaze Yuuri how much Phichit craved touch when he had consumed too much alcohol, Yuuri generally preferring death above all else when he found himself in a similar state. He never denied Phichit though, just as Phichit never swayed from Yuuri’s side despite all of Yuuri’s quirks and hang ups.

On his dresser the sounds of a shrieking siren emerged from another one of Satan’s tools of torture. His alarm screeched, firing heated daggers into Yuuri’s hungover body, signaling that work was an inevitable hurdle. Slapping as hard as he could, he snoozed the alarm, burying his head into the cold side of the pillow and outright wondering if he could quit his job. Not forever, but certainly for one day.

“We gotta get up,” the words were mumbled into Yuuri’s hairline as Phichit rubbed his nose against the softest hairs on Yuuri’s head. “How bad do you feel? Because I feel like throwing my body into a vat of toxic waste.” Releasing his hold on Yuuri, Phichit rolled onto his back. “Scratch that,” he moaned loudly making Yuuri wince, “my body is the vat of toxic waste. How the hell are we going to work today?” The question was rhetorical so Yuuri only muttered in return, unable to form words in his hellish form. Peeking from under his arm, Phichit eyed his best friend’s back. “What do you remember from last night?”

The hint of trouble prickled the back of Yuuri’s neck, making him groan. “Too many drinks,” Yuuri felt the words mix with the sickness in his throat and stopped talking.

“You remember grinding all over our boss?” There was humor in the question, even though Yuuri only felt faint terror. He nodded though, not trusting himself to speak. “And you remember the striptease with Chris?”

Rolling onto his stomach, Yuuri tried to smother himself with his pillow. When he had awaken before sunrise to purge his stomach and replace the alcohol with Gatorade and Tylenol, Yuuri had managed to convince himself that the spinning on a pole had been a dream. Clearly, he had been wrong to trick his conscious self, because reality felt so much harder to swallow now. Almost as hard to swallow as Yuuri’s own salvia.

Phichit’s weight shifted next to him as he rolled to the bedside and came back again. Poking Yuuri on the shoulder, Phichit held out his phone, the light dimmed to a courteous level. “Do you remember this?” The smirk was evident as Phichit spoke and Yuuri was terrified to look at the offered picture. Raising his head barely the needed distance, he caught sight of the image, extending a shaky hand to take hold of the phone.

The blurry forms of himself and his boss, tangled into the steamiest kiss Yuuri had ever seen was memorialized on Phichit’s phone. Yuuri was practically naked, propped on the edge of the stage, legs wrapped around Victor’s waist, one hand grasping silver hair, while the other cupped the perfectly shaped butt barely contained in dark dress pants. Yuuri’s back was angled, almost as if Victor was attempting to lay him down right there on the stage. One of Victor’s hands was wrapped behind him, dipping into the waistband of his underwear, while the other possessively clung to Yuuri’s neck. His body intrinsically remembered the kiss, arousal hitting him hard, causing him to shift his hips. Phichit’s knowing chuckle did nothing to calm his embarrassment.

It wasn’t the kiss that was the issue. He was already in the process of forwarding himself the picture for later use, despite the mind-numbing pain that came with trying to focus without his glasses. It was the kiss, in the middle of a group of men, some he knew and some he didn’t, after Mila and Sara had specifically told him what a romantic Victor tended to be. Their words from Isabella’s party made their way to the front of his brain, robbing him of any pleasure that the picture had brought him.

Victor loved romance. He wanted to be swept off his feet. He wanted the long walks on the beach and the big wedding ceremony; the whole growing old with your soulmate ordeal. Yuuri wasn’t sure he was that type of person, until he had considered those things with Victor. Yuuri had never been in love, even when he had dated, and according to the girls, Victor hadn’t either. They were equals there and this had been reassuring information to Yuuri. Until now, when he realized that he had kissed a hopeless romantic for the first time in the middle of a seedy bar while mostly naked and drunk. Good going, genius, Yuuri scolded himself. The phone in his hand began to buzz and he dropped it like hot potato onto Phichit’s chest.

Playfully smacking Yuuri in retaliation, Phichit opened the group text from the night before. Georgi and Otabek seemed to be awake, pictures being shared of colorful drinks and JJ mid-karaoke performance out of the roof of the limo. Curiosity had Yuuri leaning onto Phichit’s shoulder, squinting to read the texts as they fired in. As one appeared outside of the group text, Yuuri watched with subtle interest as Phichit brought up a new contact labeled “Cute Leo.” Poking his friend in the face, Yuuri gave Phichit a thumb’s up, still not confident in his ability to speak.

“Shuddup,” Phichit mumbled, unable to hide his smile, “he’s cute. And look, he wanted to know if we made it home ok.” Phichit’s fingers moved like lightning, responding in detail to Leo.

Another message thread caught Yuuri’s eye and he reached out to tap the contact line that said “Bossman.” The last text was from Phichit, the one above from Victor read, “home safe? Is my Yuuri okay?”

There was more than sickness swimming in his stomach as the butterflies took flight. Even after he ruined their first kiss, Victor was still being the sweetest human ever. Yuuri let the grin take over, burying his face hard into Phichit’s shoulder with happiness. A ping on Phichit’s phone brought his head back up as another text filled the screen.

“We’re not making it in today, my dudes,” the text was from Chris, with an image appearing lower, “Georgi, you’ve got the bar. This sleeping beauty won’t be functional for days.” Phichit thumbed up, revealing a picture of a topless Chris winking at the camera, a bare set of shoulders in the frame behind him.

It clicked a second later that attached to those glorious naked shoulders, was a head of matted silver hair. Feeling the sickness flood upward, Yuuri sprang from the bed, slamming into the bathroom to release the last of the vile liquid in his stomach.

 _Hopeless romantic my ass_ , he thought bitterly as he heaved his regret into the toilet.

* * *

 

Sitting propped up in his bed, contemplating whether it was his age that was making recovery harder, or the fact that he had an unexpected bedmate who snored, Victor finally pulled his phone from the charger, turning it on for the first time that day. The sun was high in the sky and Mila had brought him a tray of toast, coffee, water, and Tylenol before dropping Chris at his place and heading into the restaurant. She had convinced him to stay in bed, reminding him that he had given her Saturday off, and that she could easily handle Sunday on her own. Not in the shape to argue after the insanity Victor had put himself through the night before, he had accepted the tray and promptly settled back against his pillows.

He briefly remembered sitting in his bathtub, vomiting over the side of it into a trashcan, crying to Chris about how beautiful Yuuri was. Chris had patiently sat on the toilet, texting his new boyfriend who was away in Sicily for weekend, reassuring Victor that Yuuri would not regret their kiss in the morning. Victor had obsessed over the idea of Yuuri rejecting him, up until Chris had hauled him from the tub, forced him into a pair of sweatpants and thrown him into the bed. Chris had laid down next to him, falling asleep and snoring throughout the night. It was amazing to Victor that Chris’ boyfriend could survive the snoring, but he was thankful to Chris for putting up with him. They had been friends since they were in diapers, and had always tolerated whatever insane moods they found themselves in.

Chewing on his toast, Victor thumbed through the Instagram account for the restaurant, proud of himself for only pausing briefly over the picture Minami had snapped of Yuuri in his office. He saved it though, not being above wanting to make sure it was accessible at his leisure. The app froze as texts began to pour in, seemingly all a part of their group text. Setting his phone aside, Victor picked up his coffee cup, waiting until the buzzing subsided to thumb through the messages.

There were some hilarious shots of them dancing, and especially of JJ singing while hanging out of the sunroof. The shots of Phichit and Yuuri dancing were a sight to behold, both men looking weightless as they hung in the air mid-breakdance. A notification from Phichit popped up at the top of his phone and he exited the group text before he reached the end. Two pictures loaded. One of Victor and Yuuri pressed close together on the dance floor, right before Otabek rudely interrupted them. Victor’s entire body remembered the feeling of having Yuuri that close to him, and despite the queasiness in his stomach, he could feel the reaction building.

Scrolling to the second picture in hopes of clearing his head, Victor groaned out loud, shifting uncomfortably as the blurry image took over his screen. The kiss had been messy, the result of too long pent up desire, but seeing it on his screen made him rethink his criticism. It was hot. The way Yuuri was curled into him, back arching against Victor’s chest. The way Yuuri’s fingers tugged on his hair, the sensation coming back in ghostly waves over his scalp. He was sure there were fingerprint bruises on his right butt cheek, the thought affirmed by the very obvious grasp evidenced in the picture. His own facial expression startled him, the raw need painted very clearly, in spite of the blurry edges of the picture.

He almost didn’t let his attention be pulled away by the group text, painfully guiding himself away after saving the pictures to his phone. Sitting straight up, Victor swore in reaction to the selfie Chris had sent the group. To everyone on the text, they would have assumed that Chris had passed out sharing a bed with him, knowing that Chris had started dating his boyfriend within the past ten days. Chris was notoriously loyal and would never cheat on anyone, even though the picture may imply something else. Quickly checking the numbers on the group text, Victor groaned when he saw both Phichit and Yuuri’s on the list. They didn’t know Chris and Victor’s relationship well enough to know that nothing would have happened between them. They didn’t know the guys in their group well enough to know that all the comments afterwards were merely jokes, and not implications of anything that had actually happened.

Throwing himself back down on his pillow, Victor willed the illness from his throat, convincing himself that Mila would make sure Yuuri knew the truth. If he thought to go to her. Begrudgingly grabbing his phone, he rapidly text Mila asking her to find Yuuri as soon as he arrived. He had sent her to the restaurant in his car, and Victor wasn’t in the shape to go to work at this point. Relying on his manager to help straighten out his mess, he sent one last scathing text message to Chris, before hauling himself out of bed and into his shower.

* * *

 

Sitting in the back of the cab, Yuuri couldn’t believe they had survived the entire Sunday shift. His body felt horrible and all he could imagine was cool water running over him as he sprawled out in the bottom of his shower. Feeling Phichit elbow him, Yuuri shook his head, whining an incoherent response.

Somewhere to his side, Phichit was spouting ideas about what they could teach Isabella to cook the next day. It had been Phichit’s inspired idea to have Isabella come to their apartment, so Yuuri could truly have a day in, while also completing the previously scheduled cooking lesson. His best friend had even volunteered to go to the grocery store in the morning with whatever list Yuuri drafted. Excitedly spewed ideas about appetizers and homemade pizza dough were flying from Phichit as the car drove toward their apartment.

Yuuri was only half listening, confused as to how Phichit had recovered to the point of being energetic. Although his friend wasn’t functioning through a hangover and an emotional meltdown. Victor had indeed stayed away from the restaurant for the day, and hadn’t text Yuuri either. That was fine, at this point Yuuri wasn’t sure if he was desperate to see the man, or smack him.

Mila had chased him around the kitchen for a solid fifteen minutes making every excuse she could muster with regard to Chris’s selfie. He wanted to believe everything she said about Victor and Chris, but the fretful demons in his brain were loving the apprehension filled snack of obsession. Even Phichit’s very valid point that they could have uploaded a remarkable similar selfie that morning didn’t ease the worry knot twisting in his stomach. The realistic part of him knew that Victor wouldn’t kiss him and sleep with Chris on the same night. The unrealistic, unfair part of him that was tainted by anxiety wanted to convince him that he didn’t know Victor well enough to make that assertion. The latter was painfully the portion that was currently winning the argument.

What Mila did confirm, to Yuuri’s additional horror, was that Victor had stopped dating altogether when men were simply not fulfilling his standards of romance; this hiatus had been extended once his parents had passed away. Their conversation had become uncomfortable and then halted when Yuuri had shown Mila the picture of the kiss, first starting with Mila gushing over the intensity of it and then her face slowly falling when he explained how they came to be in that position. Her slow nod and fierce bite of her bottom lip left Yuuri with a belly full of lead, convinced more than ever that he screwed up.

He didn’t want to be some guy that Victor kissed in a bar and forgot about. He didn’t want to be some guy that couldn’t give Victor everything he wanted and deserved. For the first time, Yuuri wanted to be someone’s everything and he had let his own awkwardness prevent him from saying those words. Instead, he had bolstered himself with alcohol, adding fuel to Phichit’s good-intentioned dare, and robbed himself and Victor of a truly memorable first kiss. One that should have occurred in private and after he had made his feelings clear. Victor wasn’t some guy that had picked Yuuri up in a bar. He wasn’t some guy who wanted to hook up after coffee. He was…

Yuuri sat up in the back of the cab. Victor wasn’t just some random guy that he had mild, passing feelings for; the very thought of Victor sent Yuuri’s mind and body into chaos mode. His eyes made Yuuri feel weak, his touch made him feel breathless, the feeling of both lingering long after he had left Victor’s side. Groaning, he laid back, miserably staring out of the moving window, wrapping his head around all of his decisions in the past twenty-four hours. He wanted to believe Mila about Chris, he wanted to fix things with Victor by giving him the first kiss he deserved, and then he wanted to grab the relationship bull by the horns. But first, he wanted to collapse in his shower and properly nurse his absolutely decrepit body.  

When they arrived at the apartment, Yuuri moved sluggishly inside, finding the confines of his shower and staying there until he was ready to pass into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

 

On Monday, Yuuri found himself propped up against the couch, Isabella leaning next to him with Phichit on the cushions above him watching some ridiculous movie about two really dumb men, cheese overflowing onto his plate from Isabella’s attempt at homemade pizza. The crust was a little thick in places and there was enough cheese to clog a toilet, but overall the taste was as good as any pizza he had eaten in New York. She had made her sauce successfully on the first try, enough to serve on both the pizza and be converted into sauce for spaghetti and meatballs later. They would prepare that dish before Isabella left, so it would be hot and ready to be served when she arrived at JJ’s home for dinner. It would be the first meal she would serve for her in-laws and Yuuri wanted to make sure it was perfect.

Glancing to his left, Yuuri choked when he noticed lettuce still caught in Isabella’s dark locks, shaking his head as he picked it out showing it to her while she snickered and rolled her eyes. They had worked together chopping a salad, Phichit and Yuuri attempting a chopping contest that had taken a ridiculous turn and then veered quickly into an all-out food fight. Considering the horrid state Yuuri had woke up in, his mood was bordering on chipper after laughing his way through the afternoon with his two best friends. He wasn’t sure when he had moved Isabella into the category, but she definitely belonged there, especially after he had introduced her to his family over skype and she had spent twenty minutes happily chattering with his mother. Although his mother was the kind of person who welcomed everyone with open arms, he could tell that she was ready to adopt Isabella into the family. As he watched each of his family members take their turn on the screen, a piece of him wondered what they would think of Victor. He didn’t make even a small attempt to shove the thought away, knowing the more ridiculous one behind it was his desire to fly Victor to meet his family in Japan. That was, if he could convince Victor to be with him in the first place.

He had obsessed on this fact to the point that Isabella and Phichit had pretended to bang their heads on the countertops, the walls, and even the fridge at one point. There had also been joint threats of stuffing Yuuri in a box and delivering him naked to Victor’s front door like an obscene present. They had forcibly gotten him past the point of even considering that Victor had slept with Chris, although Yuuri knew he was obsessing on this fact to avoid the real issues in his head. Isabella had screamed at him trying to explain that Victor and Chris had known each other since they were toddlers and had never been attracted to each other. Their parents had been the best of friends, and they were raised like brothers, Victor spending every holiday with Chris’ family since his parents died. Incestuous was the word Isabella used, and that had finally driven the point home for Yuuri and shut him up on it entirely. In so many ways Phichit was the same way for him. They hadn’t known each other since birth, but Phichit was the closest thing he had in the world to a brother and he understood the level of comfort that went along with that relationship.

The obsession that wouldn’t run its course was the lack of romance in his relationship with Victor. It started and ended with their interactions at work. Yuuri believed they had been on two dates, never officially confirming if Victor thought going to see Yurio skate with dinner afterwards was a date nor confirming whether Victor thought it was a date when they went to scope out new ingredients at a local seasonal market. They hadn’t held hands or kissed after either of those dates, but Yuuri thought they had flirted a sufficient amount. Phichit had reminded him that Yuuri did feed Victor when they were exploring the outdoor market, even though the spicy meat had burned Victor’s mouth, making his nose run while he gasped for water. It didn’t feel like there was enough though, and he had voiced this opinion loudly, over and over until his friends were verging between throwing him from a window or jumping from one themselves.

As he thoughtfully chewed his pizza, he contemplated calling his sister again. Mari was older than him and had a way of knocking sense into Yuuri’s thick head, as she phrased it. Because of this talent, Yuuri only sought her advice when he knew that he could handle it, making the mistake of seeking her advice too early in the past only to ignore it and later receive a large “I told you so.” Mari’s “I told you so’s” were never as gentle as Phicit’s. He thoughtfully convinced himself to stop harassing his friends, resolved to harass Mari instead as soon as Isabella left for JJ's house.

* * *

 

Victor drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the song blaring from the radio. His windows were down despite the air conditioning whooshing inside the car. It was turning into a beautiful evening and he wanted to enjoy the feel of the building breeze on his skin while simultaneously not arriving at JJ’s with sweat soaking through his shirt. He hadn’t spent a significant amount of time with JJ’s parents, a fact that was about to be remedied as he pulled up to the modest house to fulfill his best man duties of family dinner and helping to complete seating charts. Waving to Isabella as she pulled up with her sister in the passenger seat, Victor moved toward the house.

“Hey! Vic!” Isabella called from the car, “could you help us carry this food in?” She was fidgeting with her skirt, motioning to the backseat of her car.

Changing direction, he smiled at his friend’s nervous bride-to-be. “Yum, smells heavenly in here! I didn’t know you could cook!” Ducking his head into the backseat, Victor assessed the dishes, plucking the largest one off of the seat after tucking a bag into the crook of his elbow.

“I’m learning,” Isabella darted into the seat as soon as he cleared the way, grabbing a large container which she handed to her sister over the roof before grabbing the remaining bags from the floor, “actually, Yuuri is helping me.”

The sound of his name almost had Victor dropping their dinner on the ground. He had typed and erased at least fifty text messages over the last day and a half, unsure how to say “I want to make out with you for the rest of my life” in a way that didn’t sound creepy. Every time he had gone to text the contact attached to the picture collage of him and Yuuri standing outside of the kitchen doors he had found himself falling into Shakespearean prose, declaring his love in perfect iambic pentameter. A simple “hey” felt unfitting with everything Victor wanted to say, but the lines and lines of rhyming words also felt ill-fit. The fact that he had failed to send anything at all had left him feeling awkward, equals parts dreading work the next day and willing the hours away until he could see Yuuri’s face again. Realizing that he hadn’t followed the girls to the front door, instead standing in the middle of the driveway, starring into space with food in his arms, Victor shook his head to recover and chased after them.

It was a short walk to the large kitchen decorated in a similar manner to a farm house. Although his time had been limited with JJ’s parents, he had spent a number of the last few years haunting this particular kitchen after drunken nights out. There was always food in the fridge and JJ’s parents discreetly had stayed out of the way, whereas Victor’s own parents had always plopped themselves down in the middle of the fun. Remembering his parents as he watched JJ’s mom lovingly praise Isabella for the beautifully delivered meal made his heart ache in his chest.

Incorrectly reading his expression, Isabella squeezed Victor’s arm. “He talked about you all day, you know,” her expression was thoughtful as she watched this information register on Victor’s face. “Sara and Mila said his name was floating around your house an awful lot as well.”

He had the feeling that his cheeks were inflamed as he felt the heat creep over him. There had been mild to severe obsessing as he had fought to open the pool in his backyard with the girls’ help. Victor had hoped that they had stopped listening to him at some point, realizing now that they had probably registered every pathetic word. Sighing, he rested his chin on his palm, elbow braced on the counter. “We kissed, and it was, well…” he had words to describe the kiss, but most of them couldn’t be used in polite company.

“I saw the picture,” Isabella winked at him, finishing her slow process of opening containers and transferring food to serving dishes.

The amazing aromas coming from each container had his stomach grumbling. He could tell without tasting even one meatball that Yuuri had been a part of this meal; the familiar ache increasing in his chest. “I wanted it to be so much more than lust,” Victor spoke mostly to himself, eyes glassing over, “I wanted to kiss him in a way that there was no question left as to how I feel about him. Maybe flower petals, soft music, twinkling lights?” The statement and the question came out in dreamy breaths, Victor’s mind far away from the rooster themed kitchen. He imagined himself under the blossoming tree in his backyard, one arm wrapped around Yuuri’s waist, the other trailing lightly on Yuuri’s cheek as he finally confessed all of his feelings and asked his chef to stay with him forever, in the restaurant and life. He had run the scenario through his head a thousand times, sometimes changing the location, but always the same words. Yuuri deserved all the romantic sentiments Victor had inside of him, straining to burst forth and enrapture Yuuri in their poetic web. Another sigh escaped him as JJ entered in the room, loudly breaking through his daydream, harshly landing Victor face first back into reality.

* * *

 

“I ate ten meatballs and I might die,” came Victor’s first text to Yuuri’s phone. He hadn’t seen the number pop up since Saturday morning, and something eased inside of Yuuri, a smile taking over his face that had Phichit smirking and shaking his head as he departed to his own room for the night.

“Ten is excessive,” Yuuri typed, chewing on his fingernail, finally adding, “not enough to kill you though. Death takes at least 20.” He hit send so he couldn’t overanalyze the joke, nervously continuing to shred his nail with his front teeth. He was supposed to be increasing the romance factor in their relationship and was instead joking around about meatball-related death. Somehow though, it was having the desired effect on him, relaxing his shoulders and unclenching his stomach.

Curling onto his side in his own bed, Victor bit his lip to control his manic smile as he read Yuuri’s reply. Isabella was right, he should have text Yuuri sooner. The weight that had dragged with him began disappearing with Yuuri’s first quick response. Could it be that he was waiting to hear from Victor? He certainly hoped so, as he typed out another message. “A food coma then, for sure,” he typed a second part of the sentence, deleting it and then pushed himself on, “hopefully there would be someone to break me out of my slumber.” His original text had referenced a prince and a magic true love spell, but he had hardcore chickened out.

“Like a fairytale?” Yuuri responded, moving on to chew on the inside of his mouth. Victor in a coma, needing to be broken from his slumber sounded exactly like a fairytale Yuuri had read as a kid.

Victor felt sleep invading him, his stomach full of delicious food, and the anxiety he had felt before texting Yuuri finally vanishing from his shoulders. “Yes, fairytales are nice, aren’t they?” Even with a sleep clouded brain, Victor had to know if Yuuri regretted their first kiss. He couldn’t convince himself to ask outright though, scared of being rejected when he wanted so badly to be accepted.

Despite Phichit and Isabella’s constant reassurance that Victor wouldn’t hold the lack of romance in their first kiss against him, the first thing Victor had done was talk about a fairytale first kiss. It hurt Yuuri’s stomach to know that Victor would probably move on now, his inability to be romantic in any sense of the word being the reason they never got their chance. After a significant pause, and psyching himself up to try to take part of Mari’s advice, Yuuri sent, “yes they are. You deserve a fairytale.” It was the boldest text Yuuri had ever sent anyone and his hands shook with the implication in his four word sentence.

Across town, the phone vibrated in Victor’s limp hand, as he snored into his pillow.

* * *

 

Tuesday came with a heavy rain that seemed determined to drown the whole of Russia. Packing their work clothes into plastic bags, Phichit and Yuuri dashed down the stairs and into the waiting car to head for work. The discussion turned quickly to the need to buy their own car, as it usually did over the past week, and for the first time Yuuri didn’t argue the thought. It would be nice to stop having to call for a car every day for work, even though it would mean sacrificing the evening ride home with Victor. Vowing to look for a car on their next day off, they braced themselves in their seats as their driver swerved through the flooded streets of St. Petersburg.

The restaurant had not experienced a lull in business since the time that the amazing duo of Yuuri and Phicit had taken over, the weather, however, was deterring customers leaving too many employees with too little to do. Two hours into what should have been the dinner rush, Yuuri found himself working emphatically on the only two dishes that had been ordered for a full thirty minutes. Phichit and Minami were playing cards across the other side of the counter, while Aniya stood in the doorway of the kitchen talking to Otabek and Yurio. Chris stood behind his bar, aimlessly tossing bottles of liquor with a faraway look on his face.

Seemingly the only two people who were truly busy at the moment were Victor and Mila. Victor had barely restrained his curses when she had hauled him toward the office, plunking him down behind his desk demanding that he finish the paperwork required to complete the sixth month renewal of the restaurant’s insurance policy. There were also invoices to be paid and calls to be returned for scheduling private events. Mila stood on the other side of his desk, like a teacher preventing a student from cheating on a test, clicking her tongue as Victor worked through his to-do list. What he wanted to do was go stand in his favorite spot and watch as Yuuri’s brow crinkled with concentration every time he plated a dish. He wanted to watch the man that told Victor he deserved a fairytale, work his magic in the form of food art. He wanted to stand in the empty dining room and imagine what Yuuri meant when he thought of Victor’s fairytale, his daydream drifting toward the two of them in princely attire dancing together in a field of flowers. Instead he was staring at a stack of forms he didn’t understand, slowly massaging a headache from his temple.

An hour passed with Victor diligently bent over his desk. The administrative portion of the restaurant had become a well-developed skill, even when Victor wasn’t particularly motivated to put such skill to use. Closing his books, placing the envelopes in the slot to be picked up in the morning, he stretched from his office chair, pushing back to stand, determined to spend some time with Yuuri. He had already begun to formulate a plan of inspecting the dining room for patrons and if none were present, changing the music style to encourage the restaurant staff to have a dance party. Then he could force everyone from the kitchen, take Yuuri in his arms and dance in the place where his parents had always danced. They would be alone and surrounded by the memory of Victor’s parents. If their next kiss had to be at the restaurant, which an impatient Victor was convinced it had to be, then it should be in the room that they both loved the most.

Yuuri had taken the time during the long lulls of customers to consider his own plan. He would ask Victor to drive them home tonight, and when they reached the apartment, Phichit would sprint upstairs and put on music, aiming the stereo out of the window so Yuuri could ask Victor to dance with him in the rain. He would repeat their dance from the studio, taking a full lead this time, and spin Victor breathless, until the final dip ended with a deep kiss. According to his weather app, the rain had slowed significantly, allowing the wetness to be ambiance instead of soaking them through to the bone.

A loud clap of thunder made Yuuri consider how rotten his luck was on most days and how inaccurate weather apps could be. As another bang shook the windows of the restaurant, Yuuri heard Chris call across the empty room that the storm was getting stronger and they should consider closing. Wiping his hands on a towel, Yuuri tossed it over his shoulder before walking into the hallway, where he came face-to-really-freaking-close-face to Victor.

“Hey,” Victor was instantly winded by Yuuri’s sudden closeness, “I was just coming to check on you, I think we are going to close early.” The urge to kiss Yuuri was overwhelming and Victor’s fingers twitched with the need to touch him. Counting backwards in his head to help his self-control, Victor reminded himself that his next kiss with Yuuri had to be special, not something that happened just because he went boneless if Victor was within ten feet of the man. He couldn’t force himself backwards though, looking through dropped eyelids at the smaller man pinned between his chest and the now closed kitchen doors.

It was impossible to know what was louder, Yuuri’s own heartbeat or the window-rattling thunder. He wanted to kiss Victor, wanted to reach up and capture those perfect lips, the memory of their softness and skill danced dangerously in Yuuri’s mind. He wanted to give Victor everything he dreamed of, but the pull was too strong and Yuuri was too weak for the beautiful face hanging still only a few inches from his own. Flexing his toes, Yuuri began to raise himself up.

_**BANG!** _

Yuuri startled and fell backwards into the kitchen, finding himself sprawled on the floor. In an attempt to catch him, Victor had also lost his balance, rotating to keep from smashing Yuuri and landing heavily on his side. Both men groaned, rolling and holding their various injured body parts as another loud bang echoed through the building. The whole restaurant seemed to shake with the impact of the sound, as the lights died in a spiraling sound of exiting electricity. Next to him, Victor swore, swiftly moving to his feet and distractedly dragging Yuuri along with them. The mood had officially dissipated in a puff cloud of hurried movement to plug in generators and secure the restaurant for a night without power.

* * *

 

Wednesday brought every single customer who had stayed away on Tuesday. Even though the restaurant was packed to the gills with people, the employees were in high spirits, all well rested from their impromptu night off. Tables were seated and cleared easily, patrons as eager to eat as the restaurant was to feed them, many diners thankful that Nikiforov’s had power when many homes still did not. Phichit and Yuuri’s apartment complex was being run solely on generators and they had taken their night off to consume everything in their fridge. It had seemed like a good idea until the indigestion had run over them like an oversized spoiled eggroll.

Yuuri barely found time to venture from the kitchen all night, only emerging for what was now a weekly selfie traditional with his favorite group of old ladies. Once hard to please, they were downright cheerful now, posing with Yuuri and kissing him on his cheeks. Once he had gotten beyond the initial embarrassment of their first meeting, he had found that each of these women was fairly remarkable and enjoyed even his brief moments with them. Chuckling to himself, he jogged back to his kitchen, skillfully dodging Yurio’s full bucket of dishes while playfully tugging the younger boy’s hair earning him a half-hearted scowl. Yurio had scored himself another medal over the past weekend, and Yuuri had promised him a special to-go meal for Yurio’s whole family. Skidding into the hallway, looking over his shoulder at Yurio instead of in front of his propelling body, Yuuri crashed directly into Victor, upending both of them. It wasn’t until he felt the floor harshly meet his butt that Yuuri let the curse words escape him.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Victor joked, willing the idea of crawling over the floor to cover Yuuri’s half-lounging body with his own away from his mind with Hulk-like force. He had been watching Yuuri with the table of regulars, smiling over how cute his chef was when Aniya had directed his attention toward the kitchen. The next thing he knew, Yuuri was smashing into his body, leaving Victor reeling even from the accidental contact. If it hadn’t been his vow to confess his feelings to Yuuri properly, he would have dragged the dark-haired man directly into his office. His overwhelming need for Yuuri was becoming a painful distraction.

“I don’t think my butt can take much more,” Yuuri made the joke casually, rubbing his left butt cheek which was stinging from impact. It took a full second for Yuuri to process the words he had spoken, his eyes widening as he dared a glance at Victor. Every part of him blushed when he saw the red masking Victor’s entire face.

“You sure about that?” Victor squeaked out. He wanted to be smooth. He tried to wink, accidentally closing both eyes. To his horror, when he opened them, he realized he had added flexing finger guns to the gesture. There was smooth and then there was Victor finger-gunning-winking-with-both-eyes Nikiforov. Laying back, his head landed on a shoe, sending his eyes up to meet Yurio’s.

“You two are ridiculous,” the boy spat, reaching down to haul Victor to his feet, and then repeating the motion with Yuuri. “Fred Flinstone’s car was smoother than you two.” Yurio stomped away from them, normal teenager attitude mixed with what appeared to be frustration, leaving them to stammer apologies at one another and run to their own safe places inside of the restaurant.

* * *

 

“Yuuri, wake up,” Victor didn’t want to startle Yuuri, who looked so peaceful in his sleep. The Wednesday crowd had extended far beyond last call and Victor had taken pity on his chef and sous chef, keeping the car warm and silent on their way home. Phichit had already moved from the car, and Victor was trying desperately to wake Yuuri as gently as possible.

A thought occurred to him, making Victor smile as he unhooked his seatbelt to acquire a better angle. He had made mention of a fairytale on Monday, about being awaken from slumber, and he readjusted himself to attempt the move on the beautifully sleeping lips of Yuuri. Gathering bravery around him like a prince about to awaken his prince, Victor closed his eyes and leaned in.

A car behind them beeped its angry horn, jolting Yuuri awake with fright, promptly leading him to head butt Victor in his nose. As the silver-haired man gripped his nose and Yuuri held his forehead, both in notable pain, Phichit howled with laughter, leaning against the door.

* * *

 

On Thursday, Victor had called Yuuri into his office, under the pretense of asking for new wine orders for whatever Yuuri’s menu would be for the next week. Nervously, Victor turned on soft music and dimmed the lights. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but Victor was running out of patience and craving the feel of Yuuri in his arms. The night was almost over and Yuuri would only be supervising the cleaning of the kitchen at this point, so surely he could spare a few minutes away. Victor stood in the middle of the room, where he had pushed the chairs aside, waiting with his arms swinging at his sides.

“What are you doing?” Mila looked exasperated and a little green as she walked into the office. “Is this a Yuuri thing?” She was the only one suffering through all of the Victor obsessing-over-Yuuri-rants, and in retaliation she had started a secret pool, betting on when they would finally get together. Victor knew about the pool, since she had left the sign-up sheet sitting in his printer, and he was determined to help Chris win by making Yuuri his before Thursday was over. His jacket-clad chef bounced into his office, raising an eyebrow at Victor and Mila as he entered.

“Um, Mila, could you give us a second?” Victor cursed himself for how high-pitched his voice sounded, clearing his throat and trying again, “we need to go over wine lists and all, official business, you know.” Now his voice was too low and Victor barely restrained his need to slap his forehead.

Mila didn’t move from her spot next to Victor, swaying only slightly. Reacting fast, Yuuri grabbed the trashcan, rushing to her side and bringing it to her face in time to catch her vomit. Worriedly looking over her head, Yuuri nodded toward Victor, “Phichit and I can get our own ride, you need to get her home.” He patted Mila’s back, offering her the towel from his shoulder. Passing the trashcan to Victor, who almost vomited himself because of the smell, Yuuri moved from the office promising to pack up some chicken noodle soup.

It would be a twenty-four hour bug which would take Victor out the next day and keeping him out of the restaurant until Sunday morning. Every time Yuuri text Victor to check on him, he received a strand of sickly looking green smiley faces.

* * *

 

Sunday was the first return of the entire staff after each one of them spent time recovering from the stomach bug. Yuuri had avoided it entirely, however, Phichit was not so lucky, spending all of Saturday curled up in their bathroom. Yuuri had spent every hour that he was in their apartment taking care of Phichit, keeping him hydrated and clean. When he had finally gotten Phichit to sleep in his bed on Saturday night, Yuuri had spent the remainder of the night scrubbing the bathroom and any other surface he could think of. He was happy to see his best friend in better spirits on Sunday, and even happier to find a full staff upon arriving at work. The smaller staff over the two busiest nights of the week had been exhausting, especially when Yuuri had taken to running tables himself, taking him to the brink of what he could handle in the small talk department.

Everyone was feeling the positive energy of being back together and having another packed house. Victor had announced before the doors had opened that there would be a party at his house the next day, which had also increased the excited buzzing of the entire group. Music vibrated in the kitchen, mixing with the off-key voices that insisted on singing along. Minami and Yurio raced through the dining area collecting dishes, having some bet with one another about who could clear more. It was creating more than normal crashing in the area of the sink, but Yuuri decided to leave it alone, acknowledging the goofy grins of both busboys. Chris was performing tricks with bottles of liquor, enlisting Georgi into his madness and entertaining all of the people in their near vicinity. Mila stood at the front of the restaurant, chatting with customers and the hostesses alike.

Nikiforov’s was buzzing with life and happiness, a feeling that was becoming almost tangible with the strength of it. In the center were two men, one owner and one chef, who were unknowingly building a joint empire, clueless to the ever-growing reputation of mouth-watering food and infectious atmosphere. Joy soaked into the very walls of the place, creating an environment that sang with delight, leaving customers with elated hearts and full bellies. Engagements happened almost nightly now, as so many wanted to take advantage of the restaurant that was known for exuding loving vibes from every corner. If Victor had been paying attention to the compliments, his heart would have burst from the knowledge, as it was always his mother’s dream to have a place that brought a bit of happiness to everyone who entered.

Instead, Victor could only pay attention to one thing. One man, to be more exact. The stunning man who had checked on him non-stop while he was ill, even delivering a charming basket full of supplies and food to Victor’s front door. His determination to declare his love for Yuuri Katsuki had been rejuvenated after several days of missed chances and accidental disasters and he was positioned in his usual spot, waiting for an opportunity to personally ask Yuuri to come to his house the next day. It was impossible to control all the factors in the restaurant to make his declarations perfect, but at home he could remove all the potentially interfering obstacles. Yuuri lifted his head, turning toward Victor making his heart flutter when a large hand slammed Victor away from his spot.

Stumbling, Victor’s back cracked into the opposite wall, bringing him painfully down to the floor. Straining his neck, Victor raised his eyes to the large, angry man panting in front of him.

“I told him he couldn’t come back here!” Yurio shouted, dodging the swinging battering ram of an arm. Backing away, Yurio made a motion like he was speaking into a phone and Victor automatically knew the busboy was going to call the police. Now he just needed to distract the violent man long enough to keep everyone safe.

“What are you doing here, Celestino?” Victor tried to sound menacing, his fear gripping his throat and elevating the octave of his voice.

The enraged face considered him for a minute, scoffing at Victor, as he shoved opened the doors into the kitchen. “Where is this little chef who thinks he can run my kitchen better than me?”

Victor heard the demanding voice as if it was being produced directly from his nightmares. He had been deathly afraid of Celestino as a small child, only gaining the man’s favor for a small time as an early teenager. He distinctly remembered the day Celestino had quit, the table he had thrown being beyond repair once it had landed. The words that Celestino had beat him with had been stronger than any fist, leaving Victor feeling worthless and useless and unworthy of the inheritance left by his parents. Those feelings returned, smashing over him like a pile of bricks, one for each hurtful adjective. They buried Victor, pressing him into the ground, overwhelming his mind with screaming criticism. He wanted to stand, he wanted to protect Yuuri, but his insides were dissolved into jelly and all Victor could do was curl in on himself braced against the wall and pray the man would leave.

“I will repeat myself,” the invasive statement was filled with vile hate, “who is the chef that believes he is better than me?”

Without singling him out, the staff continued to work, trustingly following Yuuri’s quiet efforts to ignore the man that was slowly stalking into their kitchen. It was Aniya who couldn’t keep up the façade, squaring her shoulders against the man’s advances. “Get out, Celestino, this isn’t your kitchen anymore.” Aniya spoke in Russian, so Yuuri only understood half of the words, only needing to hear the protectiveness and threat laced into them to fully understand their meaning. He saw Aniya raise her arms, palms striking against the oversized chest in front of her. Resistance straightened his back when he saw Celestino’s hand raise to sweep Aniya’s off his chest. The man reeled back and spit directly into Aniya’s face.

His resolve splintered, as anger broke red over Yuuri’s vision, blinding him to his own size as he flew through the kitchen. Silently, he tackled the larger man, grabbing his collar and knocking him backwards. Shaking him, Yuuri whispered, “apologize, now,” in accented English, the deep-seated rage blubbing to pop with each syllable.

“Is it you, little boy?” The unidentified man struggled against Yuuri’s grasp, his size of no use against Yuuri’s protective wrath. “You think you are better than me?”

“I know I am.” Yuuri yanked him onto his feet, shoving him backwards, grip still firm on the man’s shirt. “You hurt my family, you hurt me.” Yuuri slammed the man against the wall in the hallway, his head making a sickening thud on the wallpaper. In his hard focus, he failed to notice Victor staring at him with wide scared eyes. “Get out. Stay out. This is my kitchen now.” With a final pull, Yuuri dragged the man toward the front of the restaurant, diners gawking at him as he manhandled an intruder twice his size. Waiters grabbed empty chairs out of his way, parting his path like the red sea. Relief snuck into Yuuri’s body as he spotted the law officers entering the restaurant. Tossing the man toward them, Yuuri swiped his hair back from his forehead. “He physically assaulted at least two members of our staff, and verbally assaulted even more. Consider this our notice that we want full charges pressed.” Yuuri spun on his heel, addressing the restaurant. “I’m sorry for that everyone, free desserts for every table!” Cheers followed him back to the hallway as he raced back to check on Aniya.

His eyes fell on Victor as soon as he stepped through the threshold. His normally proud form was curled unexplainably small, leaning on the wall, with Mila bent over him stroking Victor’s back. Yuuri could hear quiet Russian words whispering from Mila, sounding almost like a lullaby being spoken instead of sung. Glancing in the kitchen, seeing his staff circled around Aniya and getting a thumbs up from Phichit, Yuuri changed direction and approached Victor’s rocking figure. Dropping to one knee, he reached out, touching only Victor’s cheek. Mila stood, mouthing that she was going to go talk to the police, leaving them alone together in the dim part of the hallway. Gently Yuuri used his thumb to caress the soft cheek under its pad, speaking softly like a parent to a scared child. “Are you ok, Victor?”

The question, spoken with such kindness, went straight to Victor’s heart, taking its place there among all the reasons that he had fallen for Yuuri. Lifting his head, he felt the tears teetering on the edge of his lids. Just like his dreams, Yuuri was there, breaking through the storm of fear and pain to pull him back to reality. This was real though. Yuuri was a breath away from him, touching him and anchoring him to a reality that was beautiful and full of hope.

Bringing his other hand to cup Victor’s opposite cheek, Yuuri marveled at the diamond pools gathered in Victor’s eyes. It was the second time he had seen him cry, and the overwhelming beauty of it was alarming. Everything about Victor was beautiful, even something that normally distorted the face, made his glow where others would crumble. When the shining blue eyes met his again, Yuuri knew that he wouldn’t be able to resist them.

It was his eyes that first drew him in, Victor would later opine, marveling at the depths of the brown eyes with the gold specs that could tell a thousand stories with only a wink. Those eyes that were watching him now, crinkled with concern as calloused fingers ghosted against his cheeks. No one knew about the hang up calls, and the vile threats that had been hissed through the line when it didn’t properly disconnect. None of the employees knew that the order keeping Celestino from the restaurant had dissolved the day his parents’ case was closed. Victor knew that Celestino wouldn’t stay away for good and he wanted to warn Yuuri that things could get worse. He wanted to tell Yuuri all of these things, wanted to tell him why Victor had found himself curled in fright, unable to fight back against the man that had threatened them all. Looking into Yuuri’s eyes, he found he didn’t need to. There was no push for explanation, only worry and care reflecting in the brown irises. The emotion, although unspoken, overwhelmed him. Victor could think of nothing he needed more in that moment than to feel Yuuri against him, to anchor himself in the feeling of the love that had filled his entire being. Shifting himself, Victor reached up, sliding his hand around Yuuri’s neck and bringing his lips to meet Victor’s own in a sweet symphony of love and affection.

Their moment had come. It wasn’t covered in flower petals, or accented with appropriately worded musical accompaniment. It wasn’t spurred by long declarations of love or confessions of the heart. Instead it was on the floor of a dimly lit hallway, the neutral space between the office of Victor and the kitchen of Yuuri, a space usually used solely to move between the more important rooms. It was there that they had finally met each other halfway. Halfway between practical and romantic, halfway between business and pleasure, and halfway between falling in love and accepting their lust.

At the end of the hallway, Yurio silently gloated, collecting money from the other restaurant employees as the assumed winner of the restaurant pool.

 


	9. Love, and then...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love makes you do some crazy things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Overuse of the word boyfriend is intentional. They are absolutely giddy for each other and their new titles, let them be cheesy about it!
> 
> I put a pause on the recipe list, because it quickly changed over to a recipe list, provided in character by Yuuri and Phicit (with help from the other characters in the AU). It will release after the epilogue of this story and be tagged as part of the Love at Nikiforov's series.
> 
> Also, this chapter contains two deleted sex scenes. They are indicated by (1) and (2). Please see end notes for where to find these scenes.

Victor had gotten his dance party on Sunday night, happily helping the waiters push tables and chairs to clear a space in the middle of the dining room. Otabek had shocked everyone by producing DJ equipment from the back of his car, plugging the system directly into the speakers of the restaurant. The staff had danced, a wild frenzy of awkwardness and talent, even dragging Aniya and Yurio into the madness after angry protests. Yuuri held Victor close in the midst of the chaos, moving with the beat in an intimate mesh of body parts. The hesitation was gone now, the only feeling between them being the unspoken need for more.

Yurio had called out to them, bringing their attention to the side of the makeshift dance floor asking if they were _finally_ an official couple. Although the conversation hadn’t explicitly occurred, they both answered yes in unison, laughing as they collided into another kiss, the cheers of the entire staff cheering them on.

Lying in his bed on Monday morning, Yuuri recalled every detail, smiling like a madman into his brightening ceiling. Kisses came easily now, Phichit had physically dragged Yuuri from Victor’s front seat when it seemed the two had no plans to separate. They had held hands over the gearshift for the entire ride home, and Yuuri couldn’t remember a time when he had been so happy simply to be touching someone else. He accepted Phichit’s cuddles for his best friend’s sake, but for the first time he found himself seeking physical affection, feeling his body craving even a passing glance of Victor’s touch. It was intoxicating and his whole body felt alive in a way he could never remember feeling. Unable to stay in bed any longer, Yuuri kicked the covers free, yanking on his running clothes and sprinting from the apartment.

From his place on the couch, Phichit grinned at the fleeing back of his best friend, silently cheering for the other man’s happiness as he always had.

* * *

 

“VICTOR!”

He jumped, almost falling into the pool, grateful when Mila caught him by the elbow. He had changed outfits nine times already, finally happy with his appearance and not ready to be separated from his clothing currently.

Although he hoped he would be later. Victor had spent the entire morning daydreaming, every scenario from the most romantic to the most sensual had played through his mind as he set up patio furniture around the pool. He had scrubbed his bathroom and changed his sheets, not knowing for sure that Yuuri would agree to spend the night, but hoping beyond all reasonable assumption that he would. That his boyfriend would want to spend the night. Yuuri, his boyfriend. The dark-eyed dreamboat who had been the star of all his dreams, his new boyfriend. Gleefully, Victor skipped away from Mila, completely ignoring that she was still shouting his name until she spun him around, shaking him slightly by his arms.

“VICTOR!” This time she yelled directly into his face. “We have to talk. I know you are in Victorland right now, probably planning your wedding to Yuuri on some mountain top, but we have to talk about Celestino.” The last few words were emphasized with individual shakes of Victor’s body.

“No,” he said defiantly, eyebrows knitting together as his lips pursed. “I refuse to let the thought of that awful man ruin my happiness high right now!” Victor stomped his foot like a tantruming toddler, attempting to wiggle free from Mila as she held him tighter.

“We can’t ignore it,” Mila softened, the pain of interrupting Victor’s joy written over her face, distorting its beauty, “I don’t want to talk about him either. But… we can’t ignore it.” Sinking down onto a wooden lounger, Mila pulled Victor down next to her. “It was bold showing up at the restaurant, I don’t know if Yuuri scared him off or made him madder. That was a pretty impressive showing of strength though, huh?”

If it was her intention to draw him into the conversation by using Yuuri, she succeed. “Celestino is so much bigger than Yuuri, but wow, Yuuri really took him down.” The loved-soaked sigh dripped with admiration. Victor had thought about Yuuri’s strength and all the ways it could be used several times since arriving home last night. He had an active interest in finding out how that strength would transfer to other activities.

Snapping her fingers in front of Victor’s face, Mila huffed in frustration. “Don’t fall off the track, Victor. We have to come up with a plan for Celestino. I checked this morning, he is most likely going to be released today.” The dread seeped out of every word, Mila making a nauseated face into her lap as her hands clenched and unclenched across her thighs.

This was not news he wanted. Briefly after his parents’ accident Victor had considered hiring security for the house and restaurant. It had always been Victor’s suspicion that Celestino was somehow involved with his parents’ death, especially after Celestino had tried to steal the restaurant directly out from under Victor within days of the occurrence. Victor never believed, nor would he ever believe, that his father had been at fault on that tragic day. He had made accusations and proposed every theory he could come up with, each resulting in a dead end with the police department. Detective Pronin had believed Victor long enough to put restrictions in place to keep Celestino away from him, which the angry man had obeyed, keeping his distance from Victor and subsequently keeping himself out of jail. Now though, with the investigation closed, Celestino was free to do as he pleased. Apparently what the insufferable ex-chef wanted to do was make Victor’s life a living hell. “I’ll call Detective Pronin first thing in the morning tomorrow, ok?” Victor wanted to move on from this conversation. The thought of his parents, of the fight for the restaurant, all of that was in the past. He wanted to ignore the existence of Celestino and let himself be carefree and happy. The butterflies that had floated him out of the bed this morning were quiet in his stomach now, and he wanted nothing more than to feel them dancing again.

“Ok,” Mila hesitantly agreed, standing up to move away from Victor. “Do we still have twinkling lights? I think we should string them up around the pool and maybe around a few trees. Just because you two are a couple now, doesn’t mean the romantic moments are going to disappear does it?”

Victor leaped from the chair, jogging lightly to the shed to retrieve the lights, grateful that Mila had dropped the conversation as fast as she had started it. Right now, he wanted to do nothing more than concentrate on the beautiful day and the bright future which included Yuuri. If it was up to him, the romantic adventure in his life was only getting started.

* * *

 

Yuuri sat in the passenger seat of Isabella’s car, fidgeting erratically, totally unaware of the knowing smiles being exchanged between his two best friends in the rear-view mirror. All of his nerves felt very alive and right on the edge of his skin, making him tingle and unable to sit still, a sensation he should have been used to by now, considering it hadn’t left him since he had opened his eyes that morning. They had playfully tormented his distracted form throughout the grocery store and the market, at one point resorting to a children’s rhyme about kissing in a tree. Yuuri found himself humming the song as he drummed his fingers on his bare knee, finally noticing the giggles of the others. Smiling sheepishly, he hung his head, letting his cheeks blush without even an attempt to hinder the progress of the spread over his neck and ears. He was happy in a way that he had never been before and it was a natural high that his body continued to reel from. There were nagging feelings trying to invade, trying to tell him that he had imagined it all and that it wouldn’t last, but Yuuri fought those thoughts like a Spartan at war, unwilling to let them claw their way to the surface. He knew when he saw Victor that the negative creepers in his mind would be vanquished; he knew beyond reason that purely being in Victor’s presence was enough to snuff them out.

As Isabella’s car climbed the steep driveway to Victor’s house, Yuuri glanced to his left, taking in the spectacular view from the hill. It had been hard to appreciate the magnificence of Victor’s home with a drunk Isabella stumbling in his arms, but now as the house came into view, highlighted with the bright afternoon sun, it finally hit Yuuri how exquisite the place really was. A three story stand-alone house, perched at the edge of a remarkable slope, one wall made up of windows, facing over the water below. The architecture was unique, boxy lines that appeared functional and elegant, and abnormal for the area of St. Petersburg. Yuuri found himself briefly wondering if Victor’s parents had commissioned the building of the home, given its rare style and prime placement.

Stepping from the car, Yuuri noted the well-kept gardens across the front of the house, blending into a plush yard of grass. He peeked down the stone pathway which circled to the left of the house, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline at the sight of a large pool which appeared to disappear off the edge of the cliff, surrounded by expensive looking wood furniture. A brick grill had been built to one side, and Yuuri could feel his hands twitching to explore it.

From his doorstep, Victor stood gawking at his boyfriend. At some point, he was going to have to tell Yuuri that if he kept wearing fitted t-shirts, Victor was going to have a heart-attack before their relationship aged a week. Yuuri’s khaki shorts fit tightly against the shape of his backside, making Victor’s throat feel dry, as he tugged on the collar of his own shirt, suddenly self-conscious about his choice of outfit.

“Wait until you see him in a bathing suit,” Phichit winked at Victor as he passed into the house, carrying bags of groceries. Isabella’s fairy-like laughter twinkled from where she stood by her trunk, finally interrupting Yuuri’s thoughts and bringing him back to the driveway. The site of Victor in a slim-fitting blue polo had him willing away his body’s reaction, knowing that the shorts barely containing his thighs would not be kind to him should his reaction get any stronger.

“You two were made for each other,” Isabella giggled, tugging on Yuuri’s arm, “can you get the rest of stuff from the trunk?” She shook her head with a smirk when Yuuri barely nodded in his Victor-lust gaze.

Finally gaining his ability to walk, Victor resisted the urge to run into Yuuri’s arms. Instead, he grabbed his boyfriend, dipping him like they had rehearsed in the dance studio and kissed him until they were both breathless. Righting themselves, quick hellos were exchanged in between more kisses which were only slightly more PG than their last few.

“Ay,” came a surly voice a few feet from them, “is this how it’s going to be all day? Cause I can go home.”

Separating in laughter, Yuuri wrapped an arm around Victor’s waist and cocked an eyebrow at Yurio who had arrived with both Georgi and Minami. Georgi watched them with watery eyes, mumbles of Russian being released behind his hand, while Minami was grinning from ear-to-ear with his phone out, happily snapping pictures. Winking at the latter, Yuuri kissed Victor on the cheek, loving the way Victor’s face reflected his own giddiness. “You might as well go home then,” Yuuri joked, pulling Victor tighter to him, “and you might want to quit your job.” Using his nose to nuzzle Victor’s neck, Yuuri beamed seeing the blush beginning to follow the path of his caresses. “How much money did you win in the restaurant pool by the way?” Yuuri threw the teasing question over his shoulder as he moved from Victor’s side to retrieve the remaining items from the trunk.

“Shut up, Katsudon,” Yurio shot, although the venom had disappeared from the statement as the younger boy began to lift bags from the trunk. The nickname had started after Yuuri had sent Yurio home with his family’s signature meal, and Yuuri found that despite the pun, he kind of loved it. Yuuri’s laughter carried them into the house and through to the kitchen where he began to assess the food for the day.

* * *

 

The party was in full swing by the time twilight began to creep over the sky. Yuuri was carefully attending the last of the food on the grill, thrilled by the reception of his mixed American and Russian cuisine. It had been more fun than he had anticipated to teach a kitchen full of people how to stuff and form their own inside-out burgers and to show them the proper way to stack their kabobs. He hadn’t necessarily anticipated the large scale cooking lesson, but was glad it happened nonetheless, especially when he watched the way Isabella helped JJ through the process. It had been a subtle moment, Isabella not drawing any unnecessary attention to JJ struggling to put his own food together, but Yuuri finally saw real evidence of the love between them. He realized that he had judged their relationship unfairly, writing JJ off as a loud athlete and never acknowledging the softness he expressed when it came to Isabella. His heart sang with happiness as he replayed the loving look on JJ’s face as Isabella guided his hands, and the chaste kiss JJ had placed on Isabella’s temple. It didn’t matter how they were when surrounded by all their friends, that singular moment in the kitchen told Yuuri all he needed to know about how much they loved each other.

Startling, Yuuri looked down to see a pair of arms looping around his waist. Flexing his legs to keep himself from leaning into the grill with his hands, he ran his fingers over the delicate wrist of his boyfriend. The breath on the back of his neck made Yuuri’s knees feel weak, and he squeezed tighter over the hand that was idly exploring his waist. “Hey there,” Yuuri found the words strangled as he tried to concentrate on keeping their food from burning with the feeling of lips trailing over his collar.

“Yuuri,” Victor whined, pressing closer to the muscular back. The way Yuuri had flexed his lower half when Victor had moved to hold him had started a smattering of delicious thoughts in Victor’s mind. “When are you going to be done so you can come play with me?”

He couldn’t be sure if it was the way Victor always said his name or the implication of Victor’s words that sent his heart into a frenzy. There was nothing he wanted more than to finish with the grill and play with his boyfriend, in all senses of the word. Flipping all of the meat one more time, he paused in his movements, to twist and capture Victor in a long kiss. Yuuri had never been one for public displays of affection and was confused as to how this was now coming so easily to him. Until he pulled away to rest his forehead against Victor’s, leveling his gaze to darkened blue eyes, and realized there was nothing he wouldn’t do for this man.

“Smile, lovebirds!” Phichit chirped, aiming his phone at the two of them. Victor shifted, pressed behind Yuuri with his arms wrapped around his waist while Yuuri snaked one hand onto Victor’s cheek and waved the grill tongs with the other. When Victor ducked to kiss Yuuri’s cheek, Yuuri felt his whole face scrunch up with happiness.

“You two are the cutest!” Mila shouted from her pool chair, Sara subtlety leaning back against her knees.

“I’ll drink to that!” Chris yelled from his spot in the pool, clinging his glass against JJ’s.

Georgi sighed a dramatic sigh, making Yurio grimace, “ah to be young and in love!” The rest of the party laughed and returned to their individual conversations as Phicit and Victor carried the platters of food into the kitchen.

Yuuri quickly set out to clean the grill, throwing commands over his shoulder for everyone to go eat. He had created an impressive spread of salads and sides, along with the burgers and kabobs they had all made and a few platters of desserts provided by the combined skills of Phicit and Aniya. He had to hope that Phicit had taken a picture of the table ahead of the vultures setting in, the large piles of food on the returning plates making Yuuri smile. His mother had taught him from an early age that good food could bring people together, and he knew she would love the scene now taking place in Victor’s yard. Snapping a picture with his phone, he uploaded it to Instagram, carefully tagging everyone in the picture and his mother over his own face. After only a second of hesitation he added the hashtag #nikiforovfamily and silently slid his phone back in his pocket.

Victor’s phone buzzed on the counter. Slipping his plate of food onto the tile, he unlocked the screen and starred at it in confusion. Yuuri had tagged him in a photo? As an avid stalker of Yuuri’s Instagram, Victor had noted that the old pictures had never gained any new friends. Clicking the app open, Victor saw a stunning shot of his own backyard, dotted with the happy faces of all his favorite people. Minami, Chris, Isabella and JJ sat on the steps of the pool, smiling with food stacked on their plates. Sara and Mila shared a pool bench, Mikey and Emil sitting across from them. Tucked in a corner were Otabek and Yurio appearing deep in conversation, while Georgi stood next to them looking confused. Sprawling on towels were Phichit, Aniya, Leo, and Chris’ boyfriend; Phichit in the middle of throwing something toward the woman. There was so much love and joy in one picture, Victor felt his heart swell with it. Thumbing down, he froze when he saw the hashtag.

_Nikiforov family_. No two words had never rang so true in Victor’s mind. They were a family, mismatched and crazy, but a family nonetheless. When he had lost his parents he had thought he was all alone in the world, but these people had never let him down. Each one of them had stood by him, supporting him in their own unique ways. In the last month, that family had expanded, welcoming Phichit and Yuuri into it with open arms. It was in that moment that Victor felt the love surround him, exuding from each smiling face in the picture; he knew that it had always been there, but it had taken one man to throw the light on and make him see it.

“You ok?” The question disappeared into his shoulder blades as strong arms circled Victor’s waist. “It’s a good picture, huh? I know I don’t post much, but, you know… I couldn’t resist.” Yuuri’s nose buried itself into Victor’s back.

“Can we talk?” Victor unwound the arms around his waist, taking Yuuri’s hand in his and pulling him toward the yard, walking toward a large tree that’s branches created a canopy of leaves. All of the feelings Victor wanted to express were winding together in his mind, looping into knots and vibrating against each other with love-crazed energy. He could feel himself shaking and was helpless to stop it.

Fear gripped at Yuuri, making him mute as no words could sneak past the lump in his throat. He had posted the picture on instinct, the warm feeling in his chest had been the driving force. Now, he regretted it, unable to read the expression of the man hastily dragging him over the grass toward the edge of the property line at the cliff. Swallowing hard, Yuuri tried to push down his irrational panic, repeatedly telling himself that Victor wouldn’t be holding his hand if he intended to yell at him or worse, break up with him. The anxiety ran rampant through his mind, like Phichit’s hamsters in their exercise balls, as Victor pulled him the last few feet to a giant tree.

“Yuuri.”

The loving roll of his name from Victor’s tongue made Yuuri’s stomach unclench. Gentle fingers touched his face, tilting his chin up. Yuuri’s eyes kept going to look up at the small white lights as they suddenly illuminated the tree above them.

Scanning the yard over Yuuri’s head, Victor saw Mila give him a thumbs up, silently thanking his best friend with a wink. “I loved the picture,” Victor accented each word with a small kiss to Yuuri’s face. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, his courage beginning to fail as he lost himself in the deep brown pools of Yuuri’s eyes. “Would you stay…” _forever, with me, as my chef, as my everything_ , all the possible endings to the inquiry were on the tip of Victor’s tongue, fear extinguishing the possibility of getting any of them out. “Tonight,” he settled on, knowing it was only the tip of the iceberg that he wanted, “would you stay with me tonight?”

There had been more to Victor’s question, Yuuri was sure of it. He was also sure that he _wanted_ there to be more. If Victor wanted to start with one night though, Yuuri would take every night offered for the rest of his life. Bringing light fingers to push Victor’s bangs from his face, Yuuri let the same hand trail to Victor’s neck, guiding him down to Yuuri’s lips. “Of course,” Yuuri whispered, letting the answer be felt and heard as he caught the other man in a tender kiss. Separating, they grinned at each other like goofballs in love, both knowing there was so much more to say, even if they couldn’t bring themselves to say any of it. Going in for another kiss, they both squawked as they were pulled apart roughly, each being lifted full-body from the ground.

“Time to dump these two in the pool, don’t cha think?” JJ yelled from behind Victor’s squirming body.

“I right agree, old chap,” Chris joked, plucking the glasses from his face as he threw Yuuri over his shoulder and smacking his butt loudly with an open palm.

Protests were met with deaf ears, as the rest of the party cheered at JJ and Chris’ approaching forms, Victor and Yuuri still struggling to escape their captors. Yurio’s shouts were the loudest, and Yuuri could distinctly hear him suggesting drowning them over the other wordless yelling from everyone else. He was laughing when his body broke the surface of the water, sinking to the bottom to push off. As he bobbed to the top, he was further amused with the sight of Victor’s silver hair plastered over his face, nose barely poking out. Swimming to his boyfriend, Yuuri pushed back Victor’s hair, using both hands to grab him into a wet kiss.

“That’s it!” Yurio screamed, throwing off his shirt, “I’m drowning them for real this time!” He threw himself into the pool, latching onto Yuuri and pulling him under the water. Seconds later, everyone joined in the splashing fight, threats and laughter intermingled as the Nikiforov family wrestled their way into the night.

* * *

 

The last of the food had been packed up. The kitchen was clean and the yard was free from trash and discarded glasses. Standing at the door, Yuuri waved goodbye to Phichit who happily winked at him from the passenger seat of Leo’s car. Yuuri staying behind at Victor’s meant Phicit had the apartment to himself, and he had hastily remedied that fact by inviting Leo to stay over. Parting ways, they had lovingly teased each other about being careful, Phicit promising to bring Yuuri’s work clothes to the restaurant the next day and fill him in on all the details.

Moving from the door and into the kitchen, Yuuri smiled at Sara and Mila who were now comfortably intertwined on the pool lounger. He felt a pang of sadness for them, still not understanding why they were hiding their relationship so fiercely from Sara’s brother. Everyone else knew about them, and were incredibly supportive, actively keeping their secret at their request. Yuuri found himself saying a small prayer that they would someday be free of that restriction, as they were such a wonderful couple and Yuuri couldn’t help rooting for their happiness.

His boyfriend was a breath-taking vision, standing in front of the glass doors, skin shining with the reflection of the tiny white lights that remained lit around the pool. It was impossible to resist the smooth lines of his body, especially when Yuuri had neglected to change from his bathing suit, standing in the middle of the kitchen in nothing but blue swim trunks. Victor had to aggressively control himself to prevent him from throwing Yuuri around and taking him right there against the glass. Instead, he reached into the cabinet, pulling down two glasses and filling them with ice and water.

Yuuri surveyed the lean lines of Victor’s body, now clad in what seemed to be his favorite sweatpants and nothing else. He had to wonder if Victor knew how tantalizing the low waistband of those sweats was, the dark fabric barely clinging to Victor’s narrow hips. The desire to run his tongue along the dipping waistband struck Yuuri hard, making him smooth down his swim trunks, now regretting his decision not to change. He crossed the room to Victor, accepting the glass of water that was handed to him, trying to suppress the awkwardness. Yuuri felt like a teenager again, eagerness taking over him in a way that was immature for his age. Trying to quall his desires, Yuuri leaned on the counter, considering Victor over the top of his water glass. “Successful party, huh?” The question sounded lame and Yuuri was thankful that Victor was already committed to dating him, his sheer stupidity an obvious detraction from his attractiveness.

“Hm,” Victor hummed in agreement, his brain ticking like a broken clock with the way Yuuri was leaning back on the counter. He had seen that lean before, studied it intensely in the picture from JJ’s party. Steeling himself for possible rejection, Victor took Yuuri’s hand. “Tired? You did a lot today. Want to head upstairs?” Victor internally cursed the nervous pitch in his question.

“Not tired,” Yuuri leaned into Victor to fill his water from the fridge, “but I would definitely like to go upstairs.” He had no idea when he had become so bold, and the quiver in his stomach told him that his bravado was fake, but Yuuri went with it, fueled by the sharp intake of Victor’s breath.

Hand-in-hand they walked up the stairs, both of them experiencing nervous twitches every time their hips bumped. Yuuri chastised himself, trying to calm the butterflies doing the conga in his stomach. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had sexual partners before, and he knew for a fact that Victor had, but something about this felt different. For the first time, Yuuri was contemplating the concept of sexual companion versus lover, and it was wreaking havoc on his level of control.

Throwing open one door of a two-door opening, Victor led Yuuri inside a large room, one side facing over the pool and all of St. Petersburg with enormous double-paned windows. Glass doors revealed a balcony, covered with an awning and decorated with two plush lounge chairs, plants, and a small table. A bed, larger than any bed Yuuri had ever seen, took over one wall, with end tables on each side. White dressers were expertly lined against the wall opposite of the balcony, small knick knacks breaking up their stark color. A TV hung over a fireplace which held pictures, seemingly of Victor with his parents, on its mantle. The carpet was a light blue, the color of a cloudless summer sky, and Yuuri’s toes sank into it, absorbing its cushion with a sigh.

Victor walked through the room, pointing things out, hands waving nervously as he talked. He saw Yuuri lean to acknowledge the bathroom, knowing that it was an impressive room with its oversized clawed tub and walk-in shower. His parents had spared no expense when creating this room and while Victor had originally felt weird moving into it, he had grown to appreciate the love that still seemed to cling to walls, leaving behind the ghosts of his parents’ storybook romance. Finally halting his movements around the carpeted floor, Victor began to process that Yuuri was the first person he had welcomed into this space as a lover. The apprehension seized in his chest, his bottom lip taking the brunt of his need to release the pressure. He began to speak again, quickly and seemingly about nothing at all.

Stepping toward Victor, Yuuri was intrigued by the emotions of his boyfriend. He had seen Victor nervous, but he had never seen Victor so nervous that he looked ready to bite through his own lip. Isabella had told Yuuri time and time again that he and Victor would be on even playing field when they reached this point, emphasizing to Yuuri that there was a difference between sex and making love, despite Yuuri’s empirical evidence to the contrary. Reflecting on that conversation, in comparison to the electricity currently running through his body, he was beginning to think she was right. He had experienced sex with other men, and while enjoyable, his heart had never been invested in the process. Now though, he felt his heart moving first, the rest of him reacting with the sheer strength of that emotion. Taking a deep breath, Yuuri reached out a hand toward his love, “Victor?” The man fell silent, again gnawing at his lower lip making Yuuri eager to replace Victor’s teeth with his own. “Come here.”

The gentle command was all it took to have Victor crossing the room and into Yuuri’s arms. (1)

* * *

 

Sometime around sunrise, when the walls of the room began to reflect the gentle break of a new day, they had finally fallen asleep in a bundle of skin and sheets. They had spent hours carefully exploring each other, learning everything they could in one night about the pleasures and dislikes of the other. Yuuri had narrated his way through his marking of all of Victor’s most sensitive spots, making Victor gasp and giggle in tiny moans every time Yuuri found a new one. In turn, Victor had finally allowed himself to take in every part of Yuuri, throwing out all hesitation and finally relishing in the uninhibited beauty of his boyfriend.

In between their languid physical intimacy, they stayed weaved into other another, equaling each of their physical discoveries with emotional ones. Victor had told Yuuri stories about watching his parents build the restaurant together, and entertained him with tales of growing up with Chris as a best friend. Yuuri described his family’s onsen in Japan, until Victor had reached for his phone, scouting for plane tickets, excitedly exclaiming that they would close the restaurant for a week in the fall and go there so Yuuri could show him in person. The talk of a trip in the future was not lost on Yuuri, making his heart dance with anticipation, pushing him to continue to explain life in Japan in the most appealing ways he could think of, including detailing out each of his family members. Victor had eagerly absorbed Yuuri’s descriptions, stating his enthusiasm to meet each one of them. In turn, Yuuri had listed all of the reasons they would love Victor, secretly knowing that he was listing all the reasons that Yuuri himself loved Victor. As the list grew longer, Victor’s blush grew darker, enticing Yuuri to kiss everywhere the blush reached and curbing all conversation for the following hour.

As Yuuri’s eyes fluttered open, he pouted when he realized he was alone in the oversized bed. Rolling to retrieve his glasses from the nearest bedside table, he blinked at the note tapped over the metal bridge. Removing it and placing the glasses on his face, Yuuri read Victor’s scribbled handwriting telling him to stay put. Snuggling back into the mountain of pillows, too many for one person to own in Yuuri’s opinion, he wondered where Victor had snuck off to, observing the view from the glass windows and sighing contently.

In the past, he had found the post-sex feeling one of loneliness, his body feeling used and only sometimes relieved. In the quiet of the room, tucked into Victor’s bed of clouds, he felt none of those things. His body, while sore in all the appropriate places, felt loved and cherished, not a hint of used or abused in the list of adjectives attributable to his physical being. His chest felt full, not of regret, but of the absolutely overpowering love that consumed his heart for the man that had welcomed him into every part of his life. There had been so many doubts thumping in Yuuri’s brain, worries that they didn’t know each other well enough or understand each other enough to feel all the things he was feeling, and no matter how many people reassured him that he was ridiculous, those thoughts remained.

Until he woke in Victor’s bed, with a note in messy hand-writing tapped to his glasses. Those thoughts were gone now, taking their ghosts with them and vacating his mind, evicted like unwanted tenants. All that was left were the memories of the night, stories told between stolen kisses, bodies touched and loved with genuine need to bring maximum pleasure to the other partner. Souls, who had found each other without reason, now wrapped together with the knowledge that they were both invested in whatever the future would bring to them. For the first time in Yuuri’s life, he felt at peace, his body relaxed, his mind quiet, and his heart joyfully fluttering in his chest.

His bladder was another matter though. Huffing frustration that his need to urinate was overtaking his ability to stay comfortable in bed, Yuuri dragged himself from under the covers, not caring to pull on clothing as he made his way into the bathroom.

* * *

 

“You are humming.”

The distinctly female voice had Victor jumping as he arranged food on a tray, anxiously shifting a single rose in between coffee cups and breakfast plates. Yuuri always cooked for him, and Victor wanted to do something special, knowing that breakfast would be his chance to shine. A shy smile took over his face as Mila poked him in the cheek.

“So, everything went well?” The question was playful as she nudged her roommate and best friend in the side. “I appreciate that we couldn’t hear you from the basement.”

“I always appreciate when I can’t hear you from my room,” Victor teased her back, returning the nudging motion. “Your food is over there.” He pointed to the table where he had placed a vase of flowers and set two place settings, with matching coffee mugs and fresh fruit.

Victor hugged Mila back when she squeezed him around the waist, placing a noisy kiss on his cheek. “I thought all my help in romantic endeavors would be lost now that you have someone to spoil,” the teasing tone disappeared as she continued, “I’m so damn happy for you, Vitya.” She kept her arms around his waist until he looked at her. “Your parents would love him.”

He knew that. In his heart, he knew more than anything that his parents would have absolutely adored Yuuri Katsuki. His mom would have fawned over his messy hair and squishy cheeks, while his father would have eagerly traded recipes with his chef. They would have adopted Yuuri into the family, and probably would have already started planning the wedding. If they were alive. Sagging onto Mila’s shoulder, Victor let the small amount of grief sneak in, knowing that they would never be able to see how happy he was or how successful he had become. He wanted to think that they would be proud of him if they could see him now.

Mila patted his back, not flinching away from the much bigger body leaning onto her slight figure. “They are watching over you, you know.” She heard him snicker and pushed his shoulders up so she could see his face.

“I hope that if they are, they politely turned away for about four hours last night,” he jokingly flinched away from her as she smacked his arm, wrapping his arms back around her and pulling her into his chest. “Thanks.” He didn’t feel like there was any other explanation he could give at that moment without dissolving into a puddle of emotion, so he left it at the singular word, giving her one more squeeze for good measure as he pulled away to retrieve his tray.

Sara wandered into the room, lighting up when she spied the decorated breakfast table. Victor slipped away, winking at Mila as they settled into their own conversation. “Sara is taking me to work!” He heard her call after him, nodding even though she couldn’t see him as he ventured into the hallway and up the staircase.

It was a task to get the tray upstairs, Victor quickly realizing why his father had always brought his mother’s coffee up separately when he had served her breakfast in bed on Sundays. Sunday breakfast, curled up at the foot of his parents’ bed had been a tradition, and even though it was Tuesday, Victor couldn’t wait to share that tradition with Yuuri. Balancing the tray between his hip and the wall, Victor used his left hand to open the door, inching his way through the doorway. His brow furrowed when he noted the empty bed, his head turning when the bathroom clicked open. The sight of his nude boyfriend almost made him upend the tray onto the ground.

Smirking, Yuuri noted the desire flush to Victor’s face. Forgetting to be self-conscious about his naked body, Yuuri meandered over the plush carpet, never taking his eyes off of Victor’s. His boyfriend’s shaking hands were causing the dishes to rattle together on the large tray and Yuuri bit his lip in a coy contemplation.

“The note said to stay in bed!” Victor quipped, trying to flirt his way out of the unnerving desire that was raging through him.

Yuuri moved toward him, reaching as if he was going to take the tray from Victor’s hands, instead circling behind him, sliding his hands into the waistband of Victor’s sweatpants. Victor had neglected to put on a shirt, sporting only the sweatpants that had been driving most of Yuuri’s private fantasies over the past week, and making Yuuri’s own current naked arousal very, very noticeable. Sliding his hands lower, he pushed the hem of the sweatpants down, leaving grazing kisses in their wake. Squatting, Yuuri slipped the sweatpants from Victor’s ankles, trailing his fingertips over the long, lean legs as he went.

It was a wonder how Victor could stand when the only bone left in his body was sticking straight out from in between his legs. When he felt the tongue on the back of his thigh, he yelped, grasping the tray tight to his abdomen. “I’m going to drop our breakfast, and it is going to be all your fault.” He tried to sound huffy, but it came out in a low growl, giving away all of his wants in one sentence.

Yuuri chuckled against the back of Victor’s thigh, pressing a kiss to his right butt cheek before standing to place another kiss against Victor’s cheek. Finally releasing him, Yuuri let himself keep an abashedly close eye on Victor’s bare butt as he moved to sit on the bed. Never would Yuuri find someone or something that he enjoyed looking at more than he enjoyed looking at every part of Victor Nikiforov.

Settling next to each other, bodies still attempting to calm themselves, Yuuri let Victor feed him the first bite of pancake, jumping when syrup dripped onto his chest. “Oops,” Victor murmured, bringing his tongue to lick up the drip, “clumsy me.” Yuuri couldn’t contain the moan that escaped him, or the way his body arched to meet Victor’s mouth. The tray was promptly moved onto the floor, with the exception of the bottle of syrup that Yuuri plucked off of it, wiggling it toward Victor with a suggestive gleam in his eye. (2)

* * *

 

The afternoon heat created a wavy line over the water as Yuuri stood admiring St. Petersburg from the top of Victor’s driveway. He was dressed in his clothes from the day before, although his body was clean after an eventful shower with Victor; a necessity along with a load of laundry after their creative use of maple syrup. The view was as lovely as his mood, as he leaned back onto Victor’s chest. “I love it up here,” he sighed as he sank back further into Victor’s embrace.

“My mom loved the view of St. Petersburg,” Victor rested his cheek on Yuuri’s still damp hair, “when my parents were younger and newly dating, they would hike to the highest points and look down on the city.” In the light of the last twenty-four hours, Victor felt heavy sadness in the memories slip away, instead feeling only love as he remembered his parents. “My dad asked her to marry him on this hill, and then he built her a house up here after fighting to buy the land. Her love of the view is why Nikiforov’s sits on a hill as well.” He tightened his grip on Yuuri’s waist.

“They sound incredible,” Yuuri’s parents had a more traditional back story, a love full of old-fashioned Japanese customs. Victor’s parents, however, sounded like a romance story straight from the musicals Phichit made him watch. It was no wonder Victor was such a hopeless romantic, growing up around parents who spent every day openly adoring each other.

“They were,” Victor pulled away, opening the passenger seat to let Yuuri slid inside his car. As he took his own place, he furthered his thought. “That’s why I know that what happened to them wasn’t an accident. My father was never careless with my mother, in anything he did. He would have never taken a chance with her life.” Victor turned on the car, eyes glazing over as he looked off the edge of the cliff. Yuuri stayed quiet, wrapping his hand over Victor’s on the gear shift. “It was here, you know,” Victor gulped, about to tell the one story he hated the most, “they were on their way to the restaurant. The car went off the side,” he pointed a shaky finger to the right, where the world disappeared at a sharp angle heading to the rocky beach and still waters below. “The rescue workers said they didn’t have a chance.” There weren’t tears, even though Victor could feel the lump in his throat. No matter what anyone said, he would never accept the idea that his father had been driving too fast and lost control; the idea was preposterous to him. 

“I believe you,” Yuuri spoke quietly, a solemn look met Victor’s gaze when he turned. “Everything you have told me, I believe you that something else happened that day.” Yuuri would never meet Victor’s parents, and his firm belief in Victor’s thoughts was based solely on Victor’s presentation of them, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t see how anyone in love would risk the life of that person, especially now that he knew how powerful true love could feel.

Reaching over the seat, Victor pulled Yuuri toward him, kissing him in an effort to express all of his gratitude and appreciation that he couldn’t find words to describe. This incredible man gave him unexplainable comfort, accepting Victor’s emotional need for the accident not to be his father’s fault, without pushing other theories or motives at him. Someday, he would find a way to tell Yuuri what it meant to him, even if he couldn’t find the words to do it in that moment. Breaking away, he kissed Yuuri’s nose, then rubbed his own against it, making both of them smile. Without a word, he put the car in drive, letting it glide down the driveway.

The landscape was a sight to behold, and Yuuri was busy trying to memorize every part of it when he noticed how fast it was passing by his window. Alarm had him spinning toward Victor, seeing the strangled panic in the blue eyes. “Victor!” Yuuri yelled, twisting further in his seat, “slow down!”

Tears sprang from Victor’s eyes, as he gripped the steering wheel, desperately driving his foot down on the brake pedal over and over. “I can’t! Yuuri! I can’t!” Panic had Victor jerking the steering wheel, a hysterical sob escaping from the depths of his belly. “I can’t! The brake!” He was thrashing violently in his seat as his leg pumped the pedal, strangled noises escaping him. He had no control over the car, his hands shaking violently over the steering wheel as he processed the fact that the brake was unresponsive. The speed was overwhelming and the panic clouded Victor’s mind, robbing him of all rational thought.

Yuuri’s stomach dropped from his body as he braced himself against the dash board. The sharp curve of the road, the steepest point which swung dangerously close to the edge, was approaching at lightning speed. In slow motion, Yuuri’s brain realized where they were headed. Twisting completely in his seat, he threw one hand over the emergency brake and the other onto the top of the steering wheel. Yanking both with all of his strength, he threw the car into a spin, veering away from the edge of the cliff as the car spun backwards. Blue eyes locked onto brown ones as the vehicle hurled into the wall, passenger side first. As the window exploded behind him with his door crushing inward, the shattering of glass and the screech of metal on rock were the last sounds Yuuri heard before the world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:
> 
> 1\. Note the tags/warnings - there are NO major character deaths  
> 2\. No plot points are ever written for the sake of angst/upset - at least in my stories, everything has a reason  
> 3\. I have never written a sad ending in my life, and I don't intend to start now. (The world is sad enough already)  
> 4\. Next chapter is out next weekend, and I will also be posting a fluffy Easter fic (not to this AU, but to the Domestic Life of Yuuri and Victor series)  
> 5\. There are TWO deleted sex scenes in this chapter.   
> (1) First Times - First Chapter of [The Sex Scenes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11021562)  
> (2) And Pancakes - Second Chapter of [The Sex Scenes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11021562)
> 
> Please feel free to yell at me in the comments. I promise to still want to hug you!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the car crash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THIS!
> 
> I have decided to shorten the length of this chapter to ONLY cover the rest of the car crash scene and the recovery in the hospital. Yes, the car crash is further described. Yes, there is discussion of injury, medications, and other potentially upsetting topics. 
> 
> IF you think this might trigger something negative for you - SKIP THIS CHAPTER. Although there is more fluff than gory details, the details are there. I will be providing a summary of non-graphic details from this chapter in the notes ahead of Chapter 11, so if you are hesitant at all about reading this, just know I will make sure you do not miss the major plot points. Again, I am specifically structuring this chapter to give you the option to skip it if you want it. It does NOT offend me if you want to skip over it. Reading should be enjoyable (even in the midst of angsty stuff) and not uncomfortable.

Glass. Glass was everywhere, except in the windows where it was supposed to be, sparkling sharp shards coating every surface. The inside of the car was crumpled to half its original size, driving Yuuri’s unconscious form heavy onto Victor’s side. Screams ripped through the air as Mila and Sara sprinted toward the wreckage, barefoot and still dressed in their PJs. From a place far away, Victor registered Sara calling for help, while the fuzzy, floating voice of Mila was much closer, reassuring him that everything would be okay. Shaky fingers lifted to touch the blood on his arm, Victor realizing too late that it wasn’t his own. Overwhelmed, he passed nauseatingly into his own state of unconsciousness.

Sirens and bright lights covered the world, an intrusively loud presence that brought Victor slamming back into reality. Rough hands removed his door from its hinges, taking their place around his body and lifting him from the vehicle. Tears blurred his eyes, red flashes searing his brain, making it impossible for him to follow the instructions of the emergency response worker. There was only one thought in his head as his body thudded against the plastic cushion of the stretcher, and Victor called his name over and over, praying that Yuuri would respond.

Desperately, he had tried to expel himself from the confines of his uncomfortable mobile bed, pushing up against the powerful holds of the EMT workers. The last glimpse of Yuuri left him sobbing as his love’s motionless body was removed from the now cut apart vehicle. Collapsing in despair, Victor let the sobs take over, no longer fighting the team attempting to treat his injuries.

A gentle hand touched his forehead, calling his attention to a familiar face above him. Not trusting his battered mind, Victor squinted, unable to process the kind voice. “He’s alive, Vitya,” Emil spoke with a hint of apprehension keeping the smile from reaching his eyes, though his voice was reassuring as he placed a needle in Victor’s arm, “the other team will take care of him, I promise.”

Holding Emil’s words close to his heart, Victor slipped off into drugged sleep.

* * *

 

_**Beep. Beep. Beep.** _

The annoying, repetitive sound was like a drill bit to his ear, making him cringe with every high-pitched repetition.

_**Anesthetic. Cleaning solutions. Starched sheets.** _

The smells penetrated his nose, invading his every breath with their sterile stench.

_**Bindings. Wires. Machines.** _

The harsh trappings restricted his movements, keeping him from shifting to escape the looming dread that clouded his mind.

_**Broken, cheerful Japanese.** _

The voice, chattering away somewhere to his right, was a guiding light toward hope.

Moaning, Yuuri struggled to open his eyes, fear weighing his eyelids down as much as the medications that were still flowing into his arm. The world spun like he was seeing it for the first time, his brain unable to process all of the stimuli at once, making him dizzy and bringing the groan from the deepest part of his belly. Letting his heavy eyelids drop closed, Yuuri took a deep breath, discovering the hint of discomfort on his right side. Panic began to rise in his throat, bringing shivers to his body as he tried to make sense of what was going on. Thoughts rippled in his brain, broken and confused, making his heartrate accelerate as he lost the reigns on his control. Desperation took him to the brink of insanity, Yuuri fighting back by listening to the familiar sound of Phichit’s accented Japanese, using it to pull himself back from the edge. Using the methods he had learned from a school psychologist, he calmed himself by concentrating on each part of his body.

His toes moved freely, although hampered by the tight tuck of the stiff sheets around his body. Flexing his feet at the ankles, he noted only a small ache up the side of his left leg, his right appearing to be in fine working order. Moving through each muscle group, Yuuri quietly assessed his injuries, while frustratingly trying to recall the moments of his last waking hour. He tightened his stomach muscles, feeling only residual pain to his side in the same place he had already identified. He startled when he went to move his left arm, eyes slitting open to examine the blue and white sling holding it in place. It looked like a stripped wing, and Yuuri attempted to move it as such, cursing as the fire increased across his shoulder.

From his side, he heard another familiar voice reprimand him for using such inappropriate language. Confusedly rotating only his head, Yuuri blinked furiously as his best friend moved cautiously toward his bed. It wasn’t Phichit’s voice he had heard, and Yuuri continued to be baffled, until a laptop was laid across his belly. Even without his glasses, he would know the face on the screen anywhere. Starring at him, the backdrop of the restaurant behind her, was the tear-stained face of his mother. Feeling his own tears prickling over his cheeks, Yuuri waved his right hand at the screen, not yet trusting his voice to hold out over multiple words.

Phichit crawled onto the bed next to Yuuri, slipping an arm under his small, sluggish shoulders to pull Yuuri’s upper half into Phichit’s lap. The smell of their shared detergent, mixed with the inherent smell of his best friend had Yuuri relaxing into Phichit’s hold. He listened to his mother speak, Phichit adding in details of the last twenty-four hours of Yuuri’s life, which he had spent asleep.

The list of injuries Yuuri had sustained was sickening to hear presented in a full list, but his rational mind quickly trumped his anxiety, reminding him that any injuries were better than being dead. His left shoulder had dislocated, with only minor tearing requiring the doctors to reset it and perform only mild surgical repair to the area. Yuuri had come out of surgery without any hardware in his body, and for that he was incredibly thankful. There was the concussion, which probably explained all of the throbbing in his skull, and the numerous cuts from glass along with bruising along most of his body. He had several broken ribs, none of which separated and would heal on their own with proper rest and pain management. Considering what he could remember of the accident, his body didn’t sound all that damaged. As his mother continued to talk, joined by Mari and his father on the screen, Yuuri rested his head back absorbing all of the information. He loved that Phichit was there, and seeing his family was making his current situation less scary, but he really needed one particular person more than anyone else.

Victor. The thought had him straining to sit up in bed, twisting awkwardly to demand knowledge of Victor’s whereabouts. His own injuries forgotten, Yuuri begged Phichit to tell him where Victor was and if he was okay.

Leaning to wrap his arms around his best friend, Phichit kissed Yuuri’s matted hair as he guided Yuuri’s bruised body back down onto the bed. “Victor has been here since the second they let him out of the emergency room,” Phichit lovingly ran his hand over Yuuri’s uninhibited arm, “Chris made him go home about an hour ago to get a shower, since he hadn’t changed and was frankly a mess. He smelled almost as bad as you do.” Phichit snickered as Yuuri bit at his hand.

On the screen, Yuuri’s family wished him goodbye, the stream of customers filing into the dining room a signal that they needed to return to work. He was sad to see them disappear, but he also knew that his next few questions were better addressed by Phichit alone. When the laptop had been removed from his stomach, Yuuri reached out for Phichit’s hand as he settled back into the chair beside the bed. “Is he okay?” It was the one question Yuuri had to know. He would have lost a limb, or given his own life to ensure that Victor was safe.

Nodding, Phichit grazed a kiss to Yuuri’s knuckles. The emotion in Phichit’s expression was hard for Yuuri to interpret, especially without his glasses, so he stayed silent waiting for further answer. “Victor is fine,” Phichit squeezed Yuuri’s hand and arm as he talked, “he also has a concussion, definitely some whiplash, and some pretty serious cuts from the glass, but other than that he escaped unharmed. I told him you dig scars, which seemed to make him happy.” Phichit’s fingers trailed over the numerous bandages on Yuuri’s arm. “They should give you a discount when you both go in to have all the stitches removed.”

So many times in Yuuri’s life he had found himself thankful for the unstoppable influence that was Phichit. Now, in the quietest form of that influence, Phichit was reassuring him, lightening the mood in the room and making Yuuri feel an overwhelming sense of normal. It had to be some kind of super power as far as Yuuri was concerned. Interrupting Yuuri before he could share these sentiments, a stocky woman in dark green scrubs jostled into the room.

“Ah, so he is up!” she was jolly and bright, and a little frightening as she leaned over Yuuri to flick a flashlight in his eyes and listen to his heartbeat. To his left, a monitor began to make intense beeping noises. “Don’t be nervous, sweetie,” the cherub cheeked woman beamed down at him, “I don’t bite, and I bring all the good meds.” Removing several syringes from her pocket, she laid them down across a metal table top. “We have you on painkillers, for obvious reasons, and you have another couple of rounds of antibiotics to go before I can let you escape these sterile walls. How are you feeling? Can you give me a pain rating from 1 to 10?”

Yuuri blinked in response, the concept of reducing the feelings in his body down to a number creating a conundrum in his injured head. “I hurt?” he ventured, uncomfortable smile on his face, “I guess it is pretty bad, maybe an 8 or a 9?” He watched with blurry vision as the woman attached a syringe to a tub sticking out of his arm, wondering briefly exactly what she was shoving into his bloodstream. A tingling sensation washed over his body, making his chest feel hollow as Yuuri sunk back into the hospital-grade pillow.

Knowing eyes watched over him as his body relaxed from the medications now making their way through his veins. His nurse, whose name he had already forgotten, unsure that he ever got it in the first place, felt disconnected from him like she was standing behind a thin veil. A hand patted him on the forehead, “sleep a bit more, I will talk with your doctor and check in with you in a few hours.” Yuuri’s eyes fluttered shut, leaving his response dead on his tongue.

* * *

 

Victor wiped his mouth, standing from in front of his toilet. It was a wonder that there was anything left in his stomach after the amount of vomiting he had done over the past day. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Yuuri’s body being lifted from the vehicle, then flashes of Yuuri laying in a hospital bed looking impossibly small and frail. His Yuuri was full of life and inspiration, and could not possibly be the same man left limp and bandaged in the stark white hospital bed. The images made Victor’s stomach churn so he hastily shoved them away.

Stripping his clothes from his body, unfortunately aware of the stench they were carrying, Victor adjusted the knobs of his shower to the hottest water that it could provide. Stepping inside, he let his muscles relax under the powerful blast.  He would apologize to Chris whenever he made his way out of the watery relief, knowing that his anger toward his best friend for making him leave the hospital was ill-placed and unacceptable. Chris had been the one to take the burden of Victor’s anger after his parents had died, and had once again accepted that role following Tuesday’s car crash. It was a wonder sometimes how he even remained Victor’s friend.

Carefully scrubbing his body, acutely aware of the areas which were marred by stitches, Victor used the time to collect his thoughts. Yuuri was alive. He was alive and he was going to be okay. Yuuri also single-handedly saved their lives.

All of Victor’s life he had dreamed of a storybook romance, one with a handsome prince and grand declarations of love, preferably done through song. Without realizing it, Victor had found his prince, and his prince has almost sacrificed his life to save Victor. It made all his childhood daydreaming seem foolish, now that he was faced with the reality of such sacrifice. He would gladly trade places with Yuuri, trading his ability to move freely from home to the hospital for a place in a standard issue hospital bed, if it meant that Yuuri could be unharmed. It killed him to leave Yuuri’s side without seeing those brown eyes peering back at him, and he pushed himself directly under the shower spout, scrubbing away soap and shampoo at a lightning pace, decisions landing in place with every passing second.

Yuuri had strode into his life at his darkest time, throwing the light on to highlight all of the good that Victor had gone blind to. The amazing strength of Mila, the charisma and caring of Chris, the romanticism of Georgi, the fight of Aniya, and the humor of Otabek and JJ had all been lost on Victor as he slipped away from reality following his parents’ death. His world had gone dark, hiding him from the love that attempted to drag him back, until Yuuri arrived bringing the brightness of life and love with him. Yuuri gave him his love, his laughter, and his newly reclaimed lease on life, and Victor was determined to fight for those L words, no matter how terrifying the fight may be.

But, if he returned to Yuuri to find that his love wanted to leave, wanted to run from the chaos and disaster of Victor’s life, Victor knew he would let Yuuri go. If Yuuri hadn’t stayed with him, at Victor’s request, he would have never been in the car when it went careening down the hill, following the same path as his father’s old blue beater. If Yuuri hadn’t spent Monday night wrapped tightly into Victor’s world, he wouldn’t have been there Tuesday morning to experience all the traumatic consequences of that decision. With everything he had, Victor wanted to hold onto Yuuri and never let him go, but in the end, he would love Yuuri enough to let him leave if that was what Yuuri wanted.

Tears fell, mixing with the now-chilled shower water, landing together on the tiled ground. Victor’s own wants and desires were no longer important to him, a strange shift after spending most of his life thinking only of himself. Everything depended on Yuuri now, and Victor would sacrifice his heart if it meant giving Yuuri exactly what he wanted.

* * *

 

The light in his room was much brighter the second time he opened his eyes, burning his irises as he squinted against it. The bed tilted to the right as pressure was placed on it, his glasses roughly shoved onto his face. Using his right arm, Yuuri pushed them into proper place, gaze falling on his new visitor. The ray of sunshine that was Phicit was no longer occupying his bedside chair, and to his slight disappointment it wasn’t occupied by his gorgeous boyfriend either. Instead, a slight-figured fidgety blond scowled back at him, hands rolling and unrolling the top of a paper bag. Yuuri’s slowly waking mental functioning picked up the hint of something more pleasant than the normal hospital smells, and his stomach grumbled with the acknowledgement of the smell of food. Easing back on his bed, Yuuri propped himself up, waving a hand at Yurio.

“Why did you have to try to be a hero?” the teen spat in his direction, the blond eyebrows smashed together in the middle of his forehead. “Look at what it got you!”

From anyone else, Yuuri would have taken offense to the line of questioning. From Yurio though, Yuuri recognized the immature expression of worry and caring. “Well,” Yuuri started, grimacing with how dry his mouth felt, “it was either this or dead. Unless you would prefer me dead?” He knew that he couldn’t pull punches with Yurio. Direct statements, which respected the maturity level Yurio longed for, was the best way to get through to him.

Wide eyes reflected Yurio’s horror from underneath a curtain of blond hair. Shaking his head, potentially to rid himself of the possibility of Yuuri’s death, Yurio sat forward in the chair, placing the brown paper bag next to Yuuri’s hip on the bed. “That’s for you,” Yurio said simply, nervous hands still playing with the top of the bag, “my grandpa made it. He says hospital food is terrible and you’ll only be poisoned if you eat it.”

Yuuri didn’t miss the affection in Yurio’s statement, and even though he thought it was more for his grandfather than Yuuri, he let it warm his heart nonetheless. “May I?” Yuuri asked, hand moving toward the bag which was filling the room with enticing scents.

“I said it’s yours, didn’t I?” Yurio snapped, the nervous dart of his hands giving away his true feelings.

With only one good arm, it took Yuuri an inordinate amount of time to unroll the top of the bag, stomach growling excitedly through the process. Lifting what appeared to be a bun from the bag, Yuuri was struck with an intoxicating aroma. Taking a ridiculously large bite, Yuuri moaned loudly as the taste of Russian piroshky mingled in his mouth with what he could only guess were the ingredients of katsudon. It was the perfect combination of the home where he grew up and the home where he intended to live the rest of his life, making his heart and belly simultaneously happy. Chomping another huge bite, Yuuri hummed happily around the food in his mouth.

“Do you always do that?” Yurio looked disgusted and pleased as he watched Yuuri consume his first meal in over thirty hours.

“Do what?” Yuuri spoke with his mouth full, unwilling to stop his devouring process to adhere to etiquette guidelines of not talking while stuffed with food.

Yurio’s lip curled as Yuuri moaned again, “yuck. Do you always make noises when you eat? It’s disturbing.” Even with that thought, Yurio was moving to sit beside Yuuri on the bed. “Do you like it?”

“This is one of the best things I have ever eaten,” Yuuri was being sincere. Despite being famished and willing to eat burnt toast to satisfy the pangs in his stomach, the odd piroshky was easily one of the most harmonious and simplistically delicious meals he had ever consumed. “Do you think your grandpa would teach me how to make it? We could serve it at the restaurant.”

Yurio beamed, the smile so bright and natural Yuuri had to resist the urge to hug the boy. “He would probably love to,” there was a youthful excitement to Yurio that Yuuri was only beginning to understand, “I can bring you more if you want! Even if you get out of here, I can bring it to you.”

This time, Yuuri didn’t hesitate to hug him, pulling Yurio into Yuuri’s side with his one good arm. “Thank you,” Yuuri squeezed Yurio again, releasing him when the boy started to gag.

“You smell so bad, katsudon,” Yurio stood off of the bed holding his nose, “you might want to do something about that. Victor is on his way back.” Yurio backed away from the bed, all traces of the sweetness gone from his stance, “I’ll see you tomorrow or something.” Spinning on his heel, Yurio left, robbing Yuuri of his chance for a clever comeback.

The same nurse entered the room, waving the syringes toward Yuuri who frowned at her. “Hi Nurse Ratchett,” he joked, referencing an old movie and making his nurse laugh, “when can I stop having that stuff injected in me? I want to shower and go home.”

She sympathetically patted his arm, “I’m going to hang your last round of antibiotics. The doctor should be here around five this evening to see you. He will discharge you then or first thing tomorrow morning.” She returned his grin, patting his cheek like his mother used to do, “I’ll get the supplies for a sponge bath, no shower for you yet I’m afraid.” Flicking liquid drops from the top of the syringe, she peeked at him over the top. “That insanely handsome man who has declared himself as your boyfriend would surely help you out with the bathing part, I’m assuming.” Her chuckle was deep and throaty as Yuuri blushed furiously.

This time when the effects of his medication overtook him, he drifted to sleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

 

Dim light trickled in through the vertical blinds covering the thick glass windows of his hospital room. Yuuri’s eyes adjusted, resolving that he had lost another few hours to drug-induced slumber. There was no way he was letting himself get injected with any more of that potent mess, mentally declaring that he survived a car accident and therefore could handle any pain that came along with that survival. Thumping his good fist against the bed for emphasis, he reacted when his knuckles clipped the warm elbow of a figure slumped onto his bed. The silver hair draped over folded arms, little sighs of sleep escaping from the curled shoulders. Victor was there. Victor was asleep on the edge of his hospital bed. Victor was alive, safe, and within touching distance. At no time in his life had Yuuri ever been so elated by the existence of another person, his all-consuming joy bringing him into a sitting position, hand outstretched to stroke the perfect strands on his boyfriend’s head. He would suffer a thousand broken bones for the safety of this man, and everything in him felt a sense of relief as his fingers stroked down the slim neck, reassuring Yuuri that Victor was very much alive and real.

Lifting his head, Victor took in the sight of Yuuri’s incredible dark eyes, the eyes that he had fallen in love with the first day in the restaurant’s foyer. He hadn’t seen them since the moment the car collided with the rock wall, and it wasn’t until Victor was drowning in the depths of chocolate and honey that he knew just how much he needed to. A sob threatened to collapse his chest as Victor threw himself onto the bed, carefully drawing Yuuri up into his lap to cling to him. Despite the unbelievable odor of blood and sweat wafting from Yuuri’s body, Victor began to smother him with kisses, a mixture of Russian and English declarations trailing behind every one.

Yuuri knew he was disgusting, skin coated in a mixture of dirt, sweat, blood, and general hospital funk, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he let himself be folded into Victor’s arms. The slim frame was so solid, so full of life that Yuuri used it to anchor himself, wrapping his good arm around Victor’s waist to yank the warm chest against Yuuri’s own. He jumped when he felt the wetness fall on his exposed collarbone, his hospital gown untied and drooping to exposure the skin. Running an unsteady hand up Victor’s chest, Yuuri cupped the chiseled cheek now trailed with hot tears. Relief stirred within Yuuri, love for the man currently crying onto his bare skin swirled with it, bringing tears to Yuuri’s eyes as well.

“I thought I lost you,” Victor murmured, voice strained with emotion as he kissed every part of Yuuri he could reach. He couldn’t seem to reassure himself that Yuuri was real, the need to touch every part of him overtaking Victor’s resolve to let Yuuri choose what would happen next. If he was to let Yuuri go, it wouldn’t be until after he had a chance to kiss every cut and bruise.

“Maybe,” Yuuri sighed into Victor’s touches, relishing in the electric tingles flashing over his skin, “maybe, we should take some sort of class to train us not to be clumsy.” He felt Victor pause his quest to kiss Yuuri’s injuries, “you know, since we have spent every day since we met acquiring injuries. In fact, I bet we could map out our love story based on the severity of our injuries.” The words were out of his mouth before his brain had processed them. _Love story_ _._ He had just called his time with Victor their love story. Ready to blame it on his concussion, Yuuri was silenced as Victor kissed him hard on the lips.

The words circled in his mind like a riders on a brightly colored merry-go-round. _Their love story_ _._ It hadn’t been Victor who outwardly romanticized their time together, and his heart was exploding with this fact. He would still give Yuuri the choice to leave, but right now, he let a part of his selfishness sneak back in. When he pulled away, he let Yuuri’s smirk influence his own. “Are we joking about this now? That’s how we are going to handle it?” Victor felt the smile tug on his lips, chewing on the inside of his cheek to keep it from spreading.

“I mean,” Yuuri barely restrained his own smile, “if you could stop falling so hard for me, and dragging me with you, maybe we would both come away with less battle wounds.” He saw the glint in Victor’s eyes and it went straight to Yuuri’s heart.

“Battle wounds, battle scars, body bumped, bruised,” Victor sang, trailing off when he couldn’t remember the rest of the words.

“Taylor Swift? Really?” Yuuri snorted, shaking his head as Victor restarted his attempt to sing the remaining parts of the verse, destroying the lyrics as well as most of the rhythm. Yuuri found himself unable to temper his laughter, shaking with it as his nurse walked back into the room. Sucking in his breath to slow his reaction, Yuuri held up a hand to her. “NO!” he said sternly making Victor jump, “don’t give me that stuff! I just got him back,” Yuuri slid an arm around Victor’s waist, pulling him close, “and I refuse to go back to sleep right now.” His pout was mixed with his serious tone, making him sound like a raging child. It did nothing to curb Victor’s desire to kiss him soundly.

Conceding to his request, Yuuri’s nurse replaced the syringe in her pocket, promising to contact the doctor to request oral pain meds. Unhooking Yuuri’s limiting wires after sliding a plastic basin onto the foot of the bed, she once again brought up the concept of a sponge bath and Yuuri looked eagerly up at Victor.

“Sponge bath, you say?” Victor raised an eyebrow at his boyfriend, dragging the basin over the bed to examine its contents. “Now that, I can do.” Together they laughed all the way to the shower chair in the bathroom, bodies and nerves bumping together as Victor supported Yuuri in the short walk, both feeling the pure relief of being reunited.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another note: It is no longer a requirement to keep head injury victims awake once diagnosed. Most head injuries heal better if the person rests without stimulation. 
> 
> Nurse Ratchett is a One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest reference.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri rages against being treated like a weakling. Victor worries constantly. 
> 
> Eros Yuuri shows up to try and fix it.
> 
> There is a deleted sex scene in this chapter, please see end notes for the link!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There aren't many chapters left in this story (including an epilogue) and I'm having a hard time thinking that it will be over soon!
> 
> I had a rough few days, which is why this update is late, but I promise the next one will be on time!
> 
> Thank you again to all the wonderful readers who are supporting this fic! I have been disheartened a bit with my own writing, and all of you are really helping to change that! 
> 
> As always, feel free to come say hi over on Tumblr n3rdlif343va (I fixed the ask box and other settings that were keeping people at bay) or Twitter nerdlife4eva.

Forty-eight hours after Yuuri had arrived in the emergency room, unconscious and bleeding from the head, he was being pushed through the main doors in a wheelchair, bandaged, exhausted, and happy. A cheerful Victor followed behind the transport tech, Yuuri’s belongings dangling from his arms as he chatted with Phichit. The sun was mind-numbingly bright, causing Yuuri to wince as he attempted to block it with his hand, cursing the lack of transition in his lenses. Most of his body felt elated from the natural heat, absorbing the sun’s rays like a man escaping from captivity in a cave. His head, however, swirled dangerously with unease and he solemnly resorted to covering his eyes with the boxy glasses provided by his discharge nurse. _Concussions are no joke_ , he heard her voice in the back of his mind, groaning as he rubbed his temples.

The sounds of Yuuri’s pain elicited worry from depths of Victor’s heart. Dumping his boyfriend’s things unceremoniously into the trunk, Victor rushed back to his side, placing gentle hands around Yuuri’s waist to guide him from the wheelchair to the passenger seat of the car. Phichit thanked the tech with a swift pat on the back sliding into the backseat to secure the flower vases, the largest and most obnoxious arriving minutes before Yuuri had escaped his hospital room, a gift from his favorite set of gray-haired regulars. He had left the chocolates and the wine behind for his nurses, loving their surprised faces upon the delivery of the items to the nurses’ station. Yuuri was no stranger to hospital stays, with his propensity for injuring himself and his legendary levels of anxiety attacks, and he knew from experience how much nurses enjoyed being recognized. He had already arranged with Phichit to have Nikiforov’s deliver a catered spread to the hospital floor, drop off scheduled around the time of shift change so all of the wonderful people who provided him care would feel appreciated. He felt even better about this decision after spending an hour listening to them tell stories of Victor’s worried antics during his lost twenty-four hours. His heart swelled with the thought of his goofy boyfriend driving the patient staff batty on his behalf, and he had welcomed Victor to his room that morning with a teasing smile and lavish kisses.

Yuuri was relieved to know that the restaurant had reopened on Wednesday, run without a hitch by the amazing team of Mila and Phichit. He had taunted Phichit about preserving his reputation, both men knowing that Phichit could outshine Yuuri on any given day if he put his mind to it, and their silly dramatics had given Yuuri hope that life would now return back to normal. The last thing he wanted was for everyone to continue to rehash the accident, conveying this concern to both Victor and Phicit repeatedly until they promised to speak to the restaurant staff on his behalf. He couldn’t return to work until Tuesday and he was reassured that the interest in the incident would be tempered by that time. Yuuri had originally argued profusely over being barred from the restaurant, but he had finally admitted defeat instead trying to embrace the time off. His heart had skipped more than a safe number of beats when Victor had declared his intention to stay with Yuuri for the time being, Yuuri’s mind creating a long and inventive list of ways that he and Victor could pass their alone time together. For someone who had survived a potentially fatal motor vehicle accident, Yuuri was feeling electrically alive, grinning in expectation as Victor’s car pulled into the unused parking spot at Yuuri’s apartment complex.

The bumbling mess they made getting from the car into the elevator should have been highlighted on a gag reel and Yuuri was positive that somewhere a security guard was having a laugh at their expense. Yuuri had neither broken his legs nor mentioned any pain in them, but Victor had spent the majority of the short walk trying to carry him, resulting in drunken-like stumbling and high-pitched squeals from Yuuri. Vases of flowers dangerously tipped in Phichit’s hands as he laughed hysterically at Victor’s attempts, never bothering to show an ounce of sympathy when Yuuri pouted his way. It was only by the grace of God himself that they made it into the apartment unscathed, all three of them sinking onto the couch with individually motivated sighs of relief.

Looking around his apartment, Yuuri let the comfort of home settle through his body. It smelled like Phichit’s hamsters and takeout food, combined with the scent of drying laundry and fresh flowers. The smell was dizzying in all the best of ways and Yuuri closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. When Victor shifted to his side, the smell of Victor’s cologne mingled with his shampoo joining the other scents, making Yuuri feel light-headed with giddiness. After two days in the hospital, he wanted nothing more than his own shower, Phichit-cooked food, and lots of quality time cuddled under the sheets on his bed with his boyfriend; a list that he spoke aloud without a hint of bashfulness. As Phicit confirmed his contribution to Yuuri’s list of requests, Victor dragged him to his feet, promising him fulfillment of the rest. The blur of the last few days fell away and Yuuri felt his heart relax, gladly accepting the attention and care of his two favorite people.

 

It was a funny feeling, being doted on. Every move Yuuri made, Victor or Phichit was there, fluttering touches to his sides and good arm, steadying him and asking him if he was okay. As promised, Victor had taken up residence in Yuuri’s room, claiming the right side of the bed and all of Yuuri’s personal space. They cooked for him and made sure his meds were provided on time; one of them always in his presence, never leaving his side vacant for more than a few seconds. He often woke to the sounds of them whispering in the hallway, knowing he couldn’t hear every worried word and constantly needing to reassure himself that they were not specifically discussing him to keep the anxiety from ramping up inside his mind. The investigation had begun into the accident, the car currently being reviewed by St. Peterburg’s finest mechanics, and Yuuri knew there were details that they were keeping to themselves. He tried in vain to get answers, finally letting it go, resolving to track down Mila when he returned to the restaurant.

In the meantime, Yuuri allowed himself to indulge in Victor’s affections, letting his boyfriend surround him in all the sweetness that was Victor. Every touch was feather light, followed by skimming kisses that never turned over to full fire. During the day, Victor forcefully kept Yuuri in bed, entertaining him with movies and books, jumping every time Yuuri breathed slightly too hard. He constantly asked Yuuri for an assessment on his pain, readjusting pillows and blankets in a nervous twitch, which was both endearing and slightly annoying. At night, Victor slept holding Yuuri to his chest or curled into Yuuri’s back, gentle rhythm of breathing meddling together in a peaceful harmony. Having Victor so close for so many hours was making Yuuri feel drugged, more than his medications were capable of drugging him, and he realized how much he was beginning to rely on Victor’s physical presence in this life. His need for pain medication and distraction was greatly decreased simply by the loving embraces of the long slender arms that were never more than a breath away.

In the wee hours of his third day at home, waking when his shoulder had flinched with pain, Yuuri curled back into Victor, letting his fingertips roam over the smooth expanse of Victor’s skin. Today, Isabella would take Victor’s place as his babysitter, Victor no longer able to continue his avoidance of responsibilities at the restaurant. Isabella had promised Victor hourly updates, teasing him by saying she would keep Yuuri away from electrical sockets and stairwells. It would be nice to spend time with Isabella, and Yuuri looked forward to having her with him for the day, even though he already knew he would miss Victor. It should be illegal to desire someone’s presence so much, and Yuuri was sure that he was developing some type of co-dependency issue, not that he cared even a little bit. Tightly snuggling into Victor’s bare chest, Yuuri fell back into dreamland with a smile on his face.

* * *

 

_Blood. It trickled down his arm, his shaking fingers dragging it across his shirt sleeve. Next to him, a head of dark hair hung limply, red droplets rolling across the matted strands. Reaching to touch it, the smell of iron erupted around him, making his stomach churn as his body was lifted away. Calling out, he strained against strong arms, begging the dead man in his car to wake up._

“Victor!” Yuuri was shaking his sobbing boyfriend with his good arm, concern sweeping through him as Victor cried out in his sleep. It had been Victor’s moaning of his name that had awoken Yuuri, originally with a smile thinking that his boyfriend was having devious thoughts about him. The smile quickly disappeared when he saw the tears on Victor’s sleeping cheeks, causing Yuuri to twist in bed, thumping against Victor’s shoulders in an attempt to break him from the dream.

Blinking, Victor gaped blankly at the ceiling, unfocused and somewhere between dreaming and awake. He tried to remedy the dream image with the unscarred face of his boyfriend that loomed over his vision. Reaching out, Victor trailed soft fingers down Yuuri’s rounded cheeks, relief spreading from the tips of his fingers through his mind and heart. Saying Yuuri’s name, Victor watched as his face brightened, letting the smile reassure Victor that all was well. Calming, he pulled Yuuri back to his chest to kiss the messy black hair, reassuring himself that it was unmarked by the red blood of his dreams.

It wasn’t the first nightmare either of them had, and it would most likely not be the last. They had agreed to always wake the other person, and in turn promised that they would always share the contents of their dreams. Victor also promised not to leave Yuuri alone at night until the nightmares had passed completely into their shared history. Part of Yuuri knew that Victor didn’t want to return to his own home and he used the nightmares as an excuse to keep Victor by his side, acknowledging his own hesitation to go anywhere near the driveway that had almost ended them. Whatever the reason, Yuuri was glad that it kept Victor by his side, giving them both an opportunity to comfort each other when nightmares and worries buzzed into their brains. Lying back, Yuuri patiently waited for Victor to be ready to talk, lightly stroking his right hand over Victor’s tense shoulders.

The words wouldn’t release from his throat. Although Victor couldn’t understand, Phichit had explained that Yuuri would feel immensely guilty if he had put Victor through any sort of pain, and seeing Yuuri unconscious and bleeding from the head definitely fit into that category. Victor had no intention of telling Yuuri that he was awake at the scene of the accident, preferring Yuuri to continue to think that they both had been knocked unconscious. Deferring to the vast Yuuri knowledge that Phichit possessed, Victor went along with Yuuri’s assumption, reconfiguring all his dreams and claiming it was his mind trying to fill in the blanks of the missed time whenever they circled around the scene of the occurrence. Yuuri seemed to be buying this explanation for now and Victor was not in the position to change his decision. Sighing, Victor began to detail his dream, leaving out his subconscious assumption of Yuuri’s death. On the long list of things Yuuri didn’t need to know, Victor’s horrifying brain imagining him dead was at the top.

Over their heads, Victor’s alarm began to buzz, alerting them to the official start of a new day. Cursing, Victor reached for the device to silence its obnoxious noise, complaining to Yuuri about his leaving Yuuri’s side to return to the restaurant. Reminding Victor that he had to keep the restaurant going so Yuuri would have a job to return to changed Victor’s mood only slightly, the broad shoulders raising a fraction of an inch from their defeated curve. Scooting from under the covers, Victor plodded toward the bathroom in the midst of an adorable pout.

Ideas forming in Yuuri’s head, he too slipped from the bed, waiting until he heard the shower running to enter the bathroom, stripping his clothes off with every step. They had showered together several times now, but only during the first time at Victor’s house was there ever anything more than purposeful cleaning and scrubbing. Yuuri was beginning to feel pent up, Victor’s closeness over the past days adding to the overflowing need with each touch and loving sentiment. Opening the shower door, he slithered in behind Victor, placing bruising hands on the narrow hips in front of him.

“Yuuri,” Victor’s warning sound was an unexpected turn on, pushing Yuuri forward to wrap his arms around Victor’s wet waist. “Do you want me to wash you, love?”

If Victor had noticed Yuuri’s intentions, he was doing an excellent job of pretending that he hadn’t. Frustrated, he hadn’t heard all of Victor’s question, nodding in response against his shoulder blades, even though he didn’t know what he had agreed to. The soapy purple sponge hit his skin and Yuuri relinquished his hold on Victor, only to let him turn around to be chest-to-chest with Yuuri in the return of the same hold. Victor’s hands traveled over Yuuri’s body, delicately washing him with small strokes of the sponge.

The sight of the stitches, speckling Yuuri’s formally perfect skin made Victor’s heart mournfully ache in his chest. As he gingerly cleaned each area, he repeated the count of the locations, stomach always twisting as the total reached over twenty. Victor had marks of his own, bruises on his chest and arms evidencing the impact of the airbag and the door panel against his body, but those didn’t bother him at all. Yuuri’s markings though, stitches repairing holes cut by glass, stitches identifying his surgical area, and bruises covering the majority of Yuuri’s body were a constant reminder that he almost lost this beautiful man,breaking Victor’s heart with every injury. All of these visible flaws were nothing compared to Victor’s fracturing resolve to give Yuuri a choice, and he continued to delay the conversation that was continuously looping in his head, scared to know what Yuuri’s final decision would be. It was too much for Victor to hope that Yuuri would continue to love him, despite the tragedies that love could bring into Yuuri’s life, and he was spending every second soaking up Yuuri’s essence, in case it was suddenly ripped from his life. If he continued to ignore the need to talk, continued to push down his needs for more intense physical intimacy, Victor was convinced he could delay the inevitable, selfishness wanting to keep Yuuri in his world for as long as possible.

Again, the feeling of loving care vibrated through Yuuri, in equal parts of splendid and infuriating. Victor had been a wonderful nurse, easily rivaling the gentle care which Phichit usually bestowed on him during Yuuri’s worst hours. Even now as they stood under the streaming water, Victor insisted on ensuring that Yuuri wasn’t inappropriately using his injured arm, thoroughly cleaning his body while the touches remained reserved. Hands guided the netted material of the sponge over Yuuri’s naked, wet body, making it come alive, while Victor painfully ignored Yuuri’s erection, even when Victor’s own became pronounced. It was useless to attempt to push anything further, as Victor had skillfully avoided all of Yuuri’s advances, leaving him with levels of sexual frustration that Yuuri didn’t even know existed.

They stepped from the shower together, drying themselves quickly, Victor gently helping Yuuri dry his back. While Yuuri slipped on a pair of comfortable shorts refusing the shirt that Victor offered him, Victor dragged himself into suitable work clothes. The aggressive pout on Victor’s face made Yuuri smirk, sliding himself to sneak into Victor’s arms, separating the shirt he had been attempting to button. Nuzzling into Victor’s neck, Yuuri’s heart raced when he heard the pleased hum vibrate through his boyfriend. Finally feeling like he was getting somewhere, Yuuri discovered his own pout when Victor moved from his grasp.

Had anything ever been harder to resist than Yuuri Katsuki? Victor didn’t think so. He knew Yuuri shouldn’t exert himself, the doctor had been very clear about making sure Yuuri didn’t push himself physically. He also knew that as soon as he crossed that line, Victor would lose the fight with himself and never talk with Yuuri about the all the issues he had spinning in his head. He wanted Yuuri, so badly it hurt, but he couldn’t let himself go further than cuddles and kisses. Noting the irresistible poke of Yuuri’s bottom lip, Victor sighed internally, leaning in to chastely kiss the pink pout, careful to keep his lower half from drawing flush to his favorite set of hips.

On his bedside table, Yuuri’s phone rang, the picture of him and Isabella from her bachelorette party blinking up at him. Snagging the phone, Yuuri braced it against his shoulder, defiantly snapping the t-shirt from Victor’s extended hand. He listened to Isabella’s breathless request for help, transferring the request to Victor and Phicit to aid her in the transport of all her supplies. In all of the excitement, JJ and Isabella’s wedding had snuck up on them all. There were favors to be made, seating charts to organize and final menus to review. Since Yuuri was confined to his home, and Isabella was destined to spend the day occupying him, it only seemed appropriate to knock out all the wedding loose ends.

He watched Victor and Phichit haul in boxes from Isabella’s car with mild amusement, the amount of tulle and sticky notes making Yuuri wonder if there were any left in the whole of Russia. He _wanted_ to help Isabella with her wedding tasks, eager to feel like he was contributing to the world, feeling lucky that he was still a part of it. Looping his sling back over his neck, Yuuri flexed his forearm by opening and closing his fist. There were still flashes of discomfort throughout his shoulder, and Yuuri gritted his teeth against them as he continued to twist his wrist. Even if no one believed him, Yuuri was determined to be out of his sling and fully active within the week, wanting to be the person that brought Isabella’s dream wedding meal to life. To do that, he had to focus beyond the physical distress and use his mental fortitude to overcome his limitations. Phicit _could_ handle the wedding preparations, but Yuuri wanted the honor of doing so.

With a last kiss from Victor and a one-sided hug from Phichit, Yuuri shut the door behind them, twirling on his heel to grin at Isabella. Releasing his arm from the sling, he trusted she wouldn’t tattle on him to Victor, especially after her giggling wink in his direction. Settling on the floor, Yuuri carefully listened to all of her directions regarding the shiny packaged candies, which were to be tied into the colorful bags currently loose in a large box at his knees. There were also mini bottles of Russian liquor, planned to be tied with tiny Canadian flags, and little place cards decorated with the national flags and emblems of all the teams JJ had played on. Every detail was incredibly sweet and Yuuri found himself blissfully lost in Isabella’s excited ramblings about her upcoming nuptials.

It was easy to let his mind take a quiet walk into the future as his fingers lazily pulled the miniature bag strings together. If it was his wedding, Yuuri would have chosen silver and blue, his two new favorite colors, and would want to hold the event in early spring, as the flowers would only be beginning to bloom. The symbolism in his thoughts made him smile, gathering more candies to slip into their fabric prisons. He could imagine Victor in a dark suit, accented by light blue flowers attached at the lapel and a contrast to Yuuri’s white suit, adorned with similar blue flowers. Phichit would make a dashing best men, and he pursed his lips to stifle his chuckle following the image of his sister and Isabella in matching bridesmaids dresses. Mari would murder him for putting her in a dress, and he would love her even more because she would wear it solely because he asked her to.

He was blissfully unaware that he was humming as he worked, a faraway look not really seeing the room in front of him. It wasn’t until Isabella poked him, raising a smirking eyebrow in his direction that he felt his cheeks flush. “Sorry,” he stammered, burying his head in his hands, caught red-handed in his very detailed daydream. Yuuri had a sneaking suspicion that she would indulge his line of thinking, peeking through his fingers to witness her broad smile. Returning it, Yuuri set back to his work, embarrassment fleeting as he began asking Isabella additional questions about her big day. Two hours passed without either of them noticing, both of them stiff when the favors were finally completed and stowed away in their containers. Isabella’s stomach growled, making them both jump, and she stood, moaning as she stretched her tightened muscles.

Yuuri followed suit, feeling the taut pull across his back, attempting to reveal the dull ache by stretching near the window. His sigh of longing echoed against the glass, a subtle wish to escape to the outdoors. Hearing the fridge door open, Yuuri moved to lean over the couch, considering Isabella’s small, contemplative noises.

“Want to walk to the market? We could pick up some lunch, or stuff to make lunch?” Isabella sounded innocent, batting her eyes playfully, knowing the suggestion was in direct violation of the list of rules Victor and Phichit had provided her on their way out of the door. Yuuri eagerly nodded, rushing to his room to retrieve his tennis shoes, shoving his feet into them without socks and yanking open the front door. He was an excitable as a puppy waiting to go for a walk. “Sling,” Isabella reminded him, pointing to the blue and white horror that chaffed his neck and made his elbow sweat. Swearing, Yuuri put his arm in place, begrudgingly acknowledging that the uncomfortable nature of the sling still wasn’t a deterrent to finally escaping the constricting walls of his apartment. Together they rode the elevator, waltzing out into the summer sun, Yuuri feeling exuberant over his freedom.

They walked in silence for an entire block, Isabella repeatedly pulling Yuuri out of the way of hazards as he was mindlessly lifting his face to absorb the warmth of the sun. His headaches had faded to an annoying tingle, leaving him to concentrate on the relief of the breeze rushing over his skin. Throwing his good arm over Isabella’s shoulders, he kissed her on the side of the head. “Thank you for letting me escape! I won’t tell Victor!” He laughed when she nudged his side.

“You have become a bit of a bubble boy, I’m afraid,” Isabella shifted the tote bags into her right hand so she could loop her left around Yuuri’s waist.

Bubble boy felt like an accurate description and Yuuri swore in spite of himself. “I don’t know why everyone keeps treating me like I am so weak. Victor would probably chew my food for me if he thought it would protect me from biting my cheek. Actually, don’t tell him I said that, he might try.” Yuuri huffed the bitterness from his chest. He had survived a crash into a rock wall and he was being treated like a toddler who fell down the stairs. It hadn’t occurred to him how bitter it made him until he started saying it aloud, finding that once he started he couldn’t stop. “You know they won’t let me talk to the detectives? I know there have to be things going on with the investigation of the car, but no one will tell me. When anyone from the police department calls, Victors runs from the apartment, like even hearing about the crash will break me into a thousand pieces,” Yuuri’s brow clenched, his arm dropping from Isabella’s shoulders to fling around wildly. “I’m not weak, Bells, I’m not! Victor froze, not me, I threw myself into the wall to save him. I don’t need everyone treating me with kid gloves.” Accenting his point was the loud **_thwap_** on his leg as his closed fist punched into his thigh.

“Yuuri, really?” Isabella stopped walking, grabbing his arm and yanking him to face her. “You think that everyone is acting this way because they think you are weak?”

“Yes?” Yuuri replied, starting to doubt himself due to her incredulous gawking. “Victor won’t even sleep with me! We’ve only started dating, and he doesn’t want to sleep with me. And it is not because the sex wasn’t good the first through the fifth times, because trust me, it was really, _really_ good sex,” Yuuri’s thoughts derailed a bit, causing his body to react making him shift self-consciously as they stood in the middle of the sidewalk. Finding the bitterness still fresh on his tongue, he continued his rant. “There is something not right there! Maybe he has changed his mind. Maybe he thinks that I cause him too much trouble,” and there was the thought; the thought that had been itching at the back of his mind never fully forming until that moment. He had bottled all of these feelings inside, not wanting to upset Victor or Phichit after everything he had put them through, and they were starting to grind on his sanity, chipping away at what little of it he had left. That final thought though, the one that had Victor pushing him away because Yuuri brought too much drama into his life that was the thought that was now erected like a billboard in his mind’s eye.

“I repeat,” Isabella took a steadying breath, “Yuuri, really?” She was shaking her head at him and Yuuri could feel himself flustering, now convinced that he had overshared. “Look at me,” Isabella squeezed his arm, angling her face to make sure he was looking at her as she spoke, “no one thinks you’re weak.” She let the statement hang in the air, letting it resonant with him. When she saw his shoulders relax, she pushed on. “Yurio and Minami have been talking about you like you are some sort of super hero. And Victor, he has actually called you his hero, more than once in the past few days.” Isabella yanked her phone from her purse, making little noises as she thumbed through her texts. Clicking to a stream, she shoved it in Yuuri’s face. “This is the group text between me, Mila, and Sara,” she flicked her finger until she reached the day that he had completely lost, “read it.”

He hesitated, only taking the phone when she lifted his hand and curled his fingers around it. Squinting at the screen in the bright sunlight, he began to thumb through the messages, tears beginning to prickle his eyes.

“Do you see the word weak anywhere in there?” Isabella’s voice was stern, not allowing Yuuri any room to argue. “You see the words brave and strong, right? How thankful we all were and are that you were able to think so quickly? And you see how worried we were? Imagine how worried Victor was and Phichit too.” He didn’t look up, still staring at the phone in disbelief. Reaching over the screen, she clicked on another group chat, this time displaying messages between herself, Phichit, and Victor. These messages told another story and Yuuri felt a crushing twist in his chest. “Never mind, don’t imagine it, read it for yourself.”

There, blaring at him from a screen, were all the things Phichit and Victor weren’t saying to him. How small he had looked in the hospital bed, how there had been a debate about his surgery due to the uncertainty of his head injury, and how relieved they all sounded when Victor reported that he had made it to recovery. The exclamations from Phichit when Yuuri had finally woken up in the hospital, followed by hearts from Isabella and weeping yellow faces from Victor. There were comments from Phichit, reporting the love and support from the restaurants regulars, even a few jokes about throwing him a welcome back party. Yuuri was exceptionally appreciative to see Isabella’s vehement argument against that maneuver. Scrolling, he read the updates about the car, learning through Victor’s disjointed texts that the brake line had been cut, although no finger prints had been found and no suspects were being pursed. There was a debate between the three of them about whether or not to tell Yuuri, and he felt a little betrayed by their decision to hold the information back from him. One message caught his attention, pausing with his thumb hovering over Victor’s bubble.

 _I need to talk to him first_ , it read, _I need to know where he stands. What if he hates me now?_

Handing the phone back to Isabella, Yuuri stammered into the ground, unable to gather his thoughts into coherent sentences. When she tugged on his arm, he let her lead him to the market, head still reeling with everything he had read. “Why would I hate him?” He hadn’t realized that he had vocalized the question until Isabella was answering it from the other side of a produce stall.

“Maybe because you wouldn’t have been in that car if it wasn’t for him?” She looked up when Yuuri made a snarling noise. “I’m not saying that is how anyone feels. I’m saying he might be thinking that. Guilt is a powerful emotion.” Isabella replaced the long green stalk, selecting a plump eggplant instead. Yuuri didn’t have a response for that. The accident wasn’t Victor’s fault, unless of course Victor had cut his own brakes which would be ridiculous. Sighing, Yuuri realized he was going to have to initiate a very emotional conversation with his boyfriend. Pushing that event aside in his mind, he moved to Isabella’s side, removing the eggplant from her bag and replacing it with one he would actually choose as an ingredient. Deciding to let the conversation drop, and appreciating Isabella’s thoughtfulness to the do the same, Yuuri threw himself into an afternoon of market shopping and seat chart organizing.

* * *

 

The problem with knowing that a conversation needs to happen is that it is far too easy to find ways to stall it. Yuuri knew he needed to talk to Victor. He knew he needed to reassure Victor that the accident wasn’t his fault and that Yuuri had no intention of blaming or leaving him. He knew he needed to tell Victor that he didn’t want to be babied, and instead wanted to return to all of the elated feelings from their first night together. He knew all of this, and snuggled into Victor’s chest on Sunday morning, pretending to sleep right up until Victor had to leave to open the restaurant.

Victor knew he needed to talk to Yuuri. He knew he needed to be honest about the complications of the police investigation, particularly the interview Detective Pronin had requested and the results of the forensic analysis of the car. He knew that he had to tell Yuuri that Victor would understand if it was all too much, if Victor’s complicated world was too much, and that Yuuri wasn’t required to stay in it. He knew all of this, and suggested a movie marathon with Phichit on Monday, ordering egregious amounts of take out and wrapping them together under plush blankets on the couch.

When Tuesday arrived, blazing hot without a breeze to interrupt the stifling heat, a standoff ensued between Yuuri and his captors. His chef’s jacket was already buttoned in place, his dark pants covering his legs and his work shoes shoved onto his feet, untied as a sign of his defiance of help. Standing shoulder to shoulder, Victor in his dress shirt and well-fitted slacks, and Phicit in his matching outfit to Yuuri’s, they attempted to block him from the outside door of the apartment. They begged Yuuri to give it one more day. Yuuri, in turn, growled out threats, threatening to use physical violence to return to his kitchen. In the end, Yuuri had changed tactics, flaunting his big, brown, puppy dog eyes and begging them to let him try. If they wanted to treat him like a baby, Yuuri was going to use it to his advantage. Victor had cracked first under the wistful glimmer, Phicit gracefully conceding within seconds after. Feeling triumphant, Yuuri skipped to the elevator, leaning against the back wall with a smug look.

Victor pondered the unfairness of his boyfriend’s ability to go from groin-affecting anger, to mind-bendingly adorable, to smugly sexy all in the span of ten minutes. He was well aware that he couldn’t win the fight with Yuuri and gave himself points for even trying. Victor wanted to wipe the smug look off of Yuuri’s face though, do so by bracketing him against the wall and kissing it from his lips. Phichit snapped a picture, hauling Victor backwards from the elevator as soon as it reached the lobby, whispering reminders about keeping Yuuri’s physical excitement at bay. Phichit was right, of course, but it was becoming harder and harder to obey by that rule with each passing day.

Yuuri sauntered to the car, quite proud of himself for all of the battles he had already won, excited to return to the restaurant and recapture some of his normal life.

* * *

 

Nothing had gone to plan. It was far more frustrating than Yuuri had imagined to stand in his kitchen and be unable to perform even the most basic prep work. He had to stand idly by, biting his knuckles as Phichit was assisted by a young staffer who seemed determined to cut off his own fingers. Finally losing it, Yuuri had pulled Yurio from his dish bucket, shoving his hands in the sink to clean them and throwing his chef’s jacket over the boy’s shoulders. At least Yuuri knew that Yurio had been learning to prep under his guidance, and could chop ingredients up to his high standards. Grumping as he moved through the kitchen, sling now rubbing against his bare skin which was left exposed by his sleeveless undershirt, Yuuri made unnecessary adjustments to the plated dishes. Phicit was perfect in everything he was delivering, which was a blessing and a curse in that moment, leaving Yuuri nothing to fix and no outlet for his surging uselessness.

Standing against the doorjamb, Victor bit his bottom lip to hide his amusement at his raging chef. Yuuri looked like a ticked off toddler and Victor was actively restraining himself from threatening to spank him if he didn’t settle down. There were little squawks and squabbles escaping Yuuri as he fussed with the straps of his sling, thundering through the kitchen like a man without a mission. Victor caught himself as his mind trickled over the beaded sweat on Yuuri’s forehead and the rippling muscles across the strong shoulders, remembering the last time he had witnessed Yuuri with those exact traits. Subconsciously adjusting his position, Victor willed the thoughts away, clearing his throat and accidentally drawing Yuuri’s attention to him. The fire burning deep within Yuuri’s brown orbs did nothing to quell Victor’s desire and he fled from the kitchen, smashing into Minami and finding himself sprawled on the floor, blinking stupidly at the ceiling.

“This is never going to end,” Yuuri squatted down beside him, head tilted in playful consideration, “where you going in such a hurry, boss?” Yuuri’s eyes trailed down his body, and Victor could feel his teasing in all the ways Yuuri intended him to feel it. Feeling the tension ease in his shoulders, Yuuri offered his hand to Victor, staggering and falling backwards when Victor sprang to his feet without assistance.

“You two are a disaster,” Otabek noted dryly, stepping over Yuuri’s chest to carry a tray heavy with food out into the dining room.

“You really are,” Aniya remarked through the swinging kitchen doors, “but, man, am I glad to have your combined ridiculousness back in action.” She shoved a tray into Georgi’s hands as he winked at her. “This place has been seriously void of any slap stick comedy.”

In spite of everything, Yuuri found himself laughing, back flat on the floor, shoulder aching from the swift contact. He let Victor pull him to his feet, purposefully stumbling forward into his arms. “Hey,” Yuuri fluttered his eyelashes, “I like you.” He poked Victor playfully in the chest, reaching up to kiss him. His face collided with the wall as Victor dodged his advance.

Panicking, Victor fled from the hallway as Yuuri flung what he hoped were joking curses at him. He had juked the kiss, knowing that even a glance of Yuuri’s lips was going to do him in, his body buzzing with excitement simply from having Yuuri back in the kitchen where he belonged. Victor had been worked up from the moment he had kissed Yuuri in the elevator at the apartment, and couldn’t afford anymore contact, lest he lose control and drag Yuuri into his office and over his desk, the way he had been imagining since the day they first met. Frantically shoving that thought away, Victor raced for Chris at the bar, snatching the offered whiskey and drinking it while Chris laughed at him.

Frustrating settling back in, Yuuri rubbed his nose, slamming back into his kitchen prepared to expel all his wrath on whatever idiots got in his way.

* * *

 

Pure defiance had Yuuri proclaiming that his shoulder did not hurt on their ride back to the apartment. He saw glances exchanged between Victor and Phichit, narrowing his eyes at both of them as they pulled into the parking space. Maybe, just maybe, his shoulder had started to unbearably throb two hours into the night, but there was no chance he was going to tell them that. If they wanted to continue to baby someone, there were going to have to find another victim to torture, or a real baby.

Stomping into their apartment, Yuuri headed straight for his shower, flinging his sling onto the bathroom counter with a **_clink_**. He heard Phichit wish Victor good luck and wondered if it was his mood or his intentions that Phichit was paying attention to. Yuuri was not going to let Victor avoid him any longer. They didn’t have to talk tonight, his brain not feeling up for the task if he was honest, but he was going to release some tension, with or without Victor’s help. Peeling his sweaty clothes from his body, Yuuri stepped into the warm water, letting it run over him, smiling at his feet when he heard the bathroom door open. Seconds later, Victor was with him, gently massaging his back and leaving a trail of kisses on his skin. Delicate fingers worked the shampoo into his scalp, and Yuuri allowed himself to relax into the touch, this now being as much of a routine as brushing their teeth together twice a day. He would miss not having to wash himself when he had two working arms; that definitely being the only thing he would miss. Rotating his upper half, Yuuri brushed a kiss to Victor’s cheek as he flexed the muscles in his back, easing the soreness. Without so much as a blush, Victor began washing his body, ignoring the way Yuuri was lightly pressing back against him in a maddeningly deliberate maneuver.   

It was driving Yuuri insane.

As he watched Victor wash his own body, Yuuri let his thoughts spiral, finally stepping from the shower in exasperation. Roughly drying himself, he moved from the bathroom, securing the towel around his waist in stubborn refusal to cover himself with clothes. He couldn’t share a bed with Victor for another night without being properly touched. The quiet embraces throughout the sleeping hours, the careful caresses in the shower, and the sad hue to Victor’s blue eyes every time they took in Yuuri’s sling, had Yuuri convinced that he was going to lose his mind. Every word, every action spoke of love, but the one thing Yuuri needed was to feel alive. He didn’t need to be cherished and babied, he needed the physical reassurance of life, wanting the reassurance in a very specific way.

When he returned to the restaurant that night, he was frustratingly restricted to delegating tasks that he would normally perform himself, standing in the middle of his kitchen, directing the action instead of leading it. Everyone treated him like an injured animal, delicately accepting his harsh criticism of their efforts, refusing to fight back against him. His dominant arm still moved freely, and yet Yuuri had felt frustration staining every one of his nerves, making them raw on the surface of his skin.

Everything in his life felt emasculating; his inability to prep his own dishes at work, his limitations when it came to dressing himself, and especially the way everyone treated him like an incapable blob, bending to his aid when the last thing he wanted was help. Yuuri was much stronger than they were giving him credit for and he was tired of being babied, even if it had only been for a few days. It didn’t matter what the text messages Isabella had shown him said, he had to prove the strength to himself, and to everyone else in turn.

Taking a seat on the bed, legs stretched out in front of him, Victor watched as Yuuri, clad only in a towel, furiously paced the room, sling pulled tight between his flexing fists. His Yuuri, who was always quick to blush and clumsy when flustered, was all fire now, storming over the carpet like a man ready to snap. The towel barely clung to the bare, damp hips, and it was impossible ignore the incredible stimulation of Yuuri’s taut muscles as he raged incoherently about the small space. Victor’s eyes were filled with curiosity as he observed another part of his boyfriend, the lower half of his body growing with the same curiosity as Yuuri’s towel slipped further apart. The sling slammed against the far wall as Yuuri flung it with his good arm, dark eyes turning to pin Victor to the bed.

There were no words on his lips as Yuuri stalked toward the one person he wanted most. He wasn’t weak, he wasn’t broken, and he didn’t need to be coddled simply because he had been injured. Letting his eyes smolder over the outstretched legs, Yuuri followed their path with a firm press of his fingers, shoving Victor’s ankles apart as Yuuri grazed the inside of his legs, fingers gripping in all the most sensitive places. If Victor wasn’t going to willing break his need to treat Yuuri as if he was made of glass, Yuuri was going to prove to him how much he could really take. Fueled by the desire that Yuuri could see Victor was desperately trying to suppress, Yuuri seized the edge of his towel and threw it across the room, hearing it hit the wall with a dull thud. Making sure Victor’s eyes were locked on his, Yuuri deliberately slowed his pace, running light fingers up the remaining portion of Victor’s thigh before lifting his knee to slide onto his boyfriend’s lap.

The breath was knocked from Victor’s chest. Yuuri’s weight pinned his butt to the mattress, back pressed tight to the headboard as Yuuri leaned toward him. Warm lips ghosted against Victor’s ear, the sensation of the edge of Yuuri’s tongue tracing his neck a breath below his earlobe had Victor moaning in approval. Sliding his hands up Yuuri’s chest, Victor pushed him back, chuckling when Yuuri scowled back at him. “Yuuri,” Victor crooned, killing himself with what he needed to say, “the doctor says you need to rest.” A groan ripped through Victor’s torso as Yuuri swiftly gathered his wrists and slammed them above Victor’s head against the cold wood of the headboard.

“Screw the doctor,” Yuuri growled, the want now pooled so tightly inside of him that he began to feel the explosion reaching nuclear levels. Leaning into the still clothed chest, Yuuri tipped his mouth back to Victor’s ear, “actually,” he left a wet trail around the rim, “screw me.” He sucked the lobe into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue as he rolled his hips slow and grinding into Victor’s lap. Releasing his love’s wrists, Yuuri set out to remove Victor’s shirt one-handed. “You are wearing far too many clothes for my liking,” Yuuri grasped the front of Victor’s shirt, awkwardly yanking it up and off to expose Victor’s chest. His nipples were hard, presenting themselves an easy target for the quick swipe of Yuuri’s tongue, causing Victor’s mouth to fall open in a gasp. The sight did nothing to dissuade Yuuri from wanting to take everything Victor would give him.

He might be dying, Victor decided, breath coming out in short puffs as he lost all control, feeling more turned on than he ever had in his life. Letting his head fall back, Victor lent his own hand to assist Yuuri in sliding down his sweat pants, breath sucking in as Yuuri moved lower over his body, dragging the fabric from his long legs, inch by painstaking inch. He wanted to take care of Yuuri, to nurse him back to health without throwing any of his desires onto him for fear of hampering his recovery. As he breathlessly watched Yuuri move over him, a mess of black hair leading the assault on all of Victor’s senses, he gave into the need to touch and be touched. (3)

* * *

 

Yuuri hummed happily to himself as he lay across the bed, ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder to relish in the satisfied feeling lapping over his body. He had never imagined that sex could feel the way it did with Victor, and he knew that there was a chance that he was now addicted to the feeling. Chuckling at the thought, he flung his hand toward his phone on the nightstand, continuing to smile as he opened Instagram feeling Victor wrap himself around the right side of Yuuri’s body like a touch-starved octopus. He kissed the part in Victor’s hair, heart fluttering as he spied Victor’s reactive smile dancing over his sleep slacked face. He decided to forgive Victor for treating him like he was broken and delicate, appreciating that Victor had spent the better part of an hour doing the exact opposite once Yuuri had pressed his buttons. It would definitely be an action that Yuuri would be repeating in the future, thoroughly enjoying all the lingering sensations as his body started to settle.

He thumbed through Instagram, careful to keep his shoulder in a supported position with his phone resting against his sternum. He never had the chance to see all of the pictures from the party and he wanted to relive that night, the night before the world quite literally came crashing in. He smiled at his own account, remembering Victor’s endearing reaction to his picture of the party, placing another kiss on the silver part currently nestled on his good shoulder. Chris’s pictures were his next binging victims, Yuuri having to stifle his giggles over Chris’s hilarious captions. Victor had taken a few of his own, including one that had Yuuri blushing, a view of his own body, sporting only swim trunks, highlighted in front of the glass of Victor’s patio doors. Victor had hashtagged it “solucky” and “lookatthatbody” making Yuuri’s cheeks and ears catch simultaneously on fire. The mischievous comments of their friends were even more excruciating and Yuuri hastily moved on to Phichit’s account. He searched through all of the new pictures, only barely resisting the urge to race to one in particular. Finally reaching it, Yuuri brought it up, grin breaking over his face as he stared at his own body, with Victor wrapped around him, cheerfully waving at Phichit from beside the brick grill in Victor’s backyard.

 _Hey_ , he text to Phichit, despite his best friend only being in the next room.

 _Hey back_ , Phichit responded, the three dots reappearing immediately, _are you done in there? I put on noise cancelling headphones AND hid in my closet AND put a pillow over my head and I could still hear you. #getitkatsuki._

The flames were back on Yuuri’s cheeks as he flicked back to Phichit’s Instagram, taking a closer look at Phichit’s most recent selfie. Phichit was indeed wearing the headphones, appearing to be sitting in the dark with a pillow on his head. “GetitKatsuki,” “TheyWontBeAbleToWalkTomorrow,” and “YouWouldntBelieveHowLoudTheyAre” were all tagged below the picture.

Groaning, Yuuri tapped out another text with his thumb. _I cannot believe you posted that!_

 _Yes you can_ , was Phichit’s rapid response, making Yuuri snicker.

 _ANYWAY_ , Yuuri’s hand was starting to cramp from the position of his phone, _any chance you could send me that picture of me and V from the party? I want to use it as my lock screen._

 _D’awwwww_ , Phichit added a dozen blushing smiley faces and blue hearts to his reply, saving himself from being strangled in his sleep by immediately forwarding the requested picture.

 _Thanks, P_ , Yuuri stared at the picture, trying to memorize every detail. He wasn’t a big fan of pictures of himself, but maybe pictures of him and Victor would be different. Using his thumb and his pointer finger, he zoomed in, repositioning the enlarged image over their faces.

He stared, heart restricting in his chest at the unedited picture on his phone. In the forefront, he and Victor were wrapped together, the picture of devotion and happiness, but it was the background that caught his eye. Next to Victor’s car was a distinct outline of a man that Yuuri would recognize anywhere; a man Yuuri had personally thrown from Nikiforov’s a mere ten days prior. The crooked nose, long ponytail and hard eyes were unmistakable as Celestino crouched over Victor’s car, unaware that his presence was being inadvertently captured in the background of his victims.

Sliding from the bed, Yuuri repressed the urge to throw up, instead walking to retrieve Victor’s phone from the other side of the room. Scrolling through the contacts, he identified the one he needed, dialing the number while slipping from the bedroom. It took four rings for the man to pick up, Yuuri’s heartrate increasing with each one, hoping that the detective was still on the nightshift. At the end of the gruff greeting, Yuuri swallowed his nerves and spoke clearly with firm command dominating his voice, “Detective Pronin, this is Yuuri Katsuki, chef at Nikiforov’s. I need to see you immediately.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * (3) deleted scene - I'm not broken so break me (Eros Mode Activated) - Chapter 3 of [The Sex Scenes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11021562)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12 is basically the Episode 11 of this story. I'm sorry. 
> 
> There is a deleted sex scene in this. Please see the end chapter notes for the link!
> 
> There is one chapter after this and then the epilogue. I'm sad to see this story coming to its close, but I hope you have enjoyed it. 
> 
> Next weekend there will not be a chapter update, as I have a special update for my Domestic Life of Yuuri and Victor series (please check it out if you haven't already). 
> 
> Heilariart on Tumblr drew some fanart for the kiss in Chapter 8 (so it is a little NFSW and super hot). Check her out on Tumblr or come see the picture on my tumblr: n3rdlif343va. 
> 
> I have decided to post all the smut that didn't appear in the story in a separate fic, which will be explicitly rated and part of the Love at Nikiforov's series. That will post during the week this week. I am keeping this fic at the mature rating. If anyone ends up wanting this fic in PDF form, with the smut scenes included, I can make that happen as well :).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let this be a lesson: communication is important! If you don't communicate, it builds up inside you and explodes. These guys learn this the hard way. 
> 
> Note: I NEVER write sad endings. Just keep that in mind.

The sun was still tucked in its bed, the moon holding position over his part of the world as Yuuri slipped from his apartment and into the black cruiser. It was an intimidating vehicle, the black exterior shiny with its bullet proof metal and dark tinted windows. He steeled himself as it rolled to a stop, pulling open the handle of the passenger side door to slip carefully inside. Once seated, Yuuri reached for a seatbelt that wasn’t there.

“No belts in the front seat,” the rough voice next to him sent chills down Yuuri’s spine. “Katsuki, I presume?” Yuuri nodded, still too afraid to speak. “You do good work. Nikiforov’s has never been better.” Although the statement was meant as a compliment, the firm natural command of the detective’s voice made it sound like an order to keep it up. Yuuri willed himself to calm down, to accept the praise for what it was and stop trying to make it menacing.

Finally getting up the nerve to look at his driver, Yuuri observed Detective Pronin from his periphery. His original assessment of the man, that he was the largest human Yuuri had ever seen, remained very accurate. His large frame looked uncomfortably shoved into the driver’s seat, his head gracing the roof where a permanent imprint had been made. His dark hair, with its patches of gray around the ears, was cut military short, and the lower portion of his face was hidden behind an impressive beard of black hair speckled with sporadic gray hairs. Hands that were surely larger than Yuuri’s face were wrapped around the steering wheel, covering the majority of it while the bottom scraped against his knees as Detective Pronin maneuvered the vehicle through the streets. If he hadn’t been so scared, Yuuri would have found the sight silly and ridiculous. As it was, he didn’t have the ability to find humor in the situation, hands clenched into fists on his lap, his phone safely cradled in the hidden lapel pocket of his jacket.

They drove in silence for fifteen minutes, the twists and turns making Yuuri nauseous. Adding to his unease was the fact that he no longer knew where they were, the roads and buildings unfamiliar to Yuuri in a sickening way. Attempting to reassure himself that he was safe, Yuuri continued to remind his aching belly that Victor trusted Detective Pronin, that he was one of the good guys. It was harder to convince himself of this as the car pulled to a stop, tucked near a secluded park where no life seemed to be stirring. “Get out,” came the rough command, Detective Pronin unfolding himself from the front seat to walking toward the wooded area. Gulping, Yuuri followed, carefully watching the ground to keep himself from tripping.

A creak broke the silence somewhere to Yuuri’s left, making him jump defensively from the path, scanning his surroundings to identify the source. The playground situated at the top of the hill looked abandoned, rust covered the metal pipes and ate holes into a long slide. Broken chains laid on the ground, one side of each swing still attached to the overhead monkey bars which were overrun by ivy. Yuuri’s creative mind easily brought to life the ghosts of children playing on the swing set, making himself shiver as the creaking echoed through the forsaken park. He stumbled, catching himself on the back of a crumbled bench, realizing Detective Pronin had taken a seat. Sitting next to him for a second time, Yuuri felt his skin crawl with the creepy fog that settled around them.

“Show me what you’ve got.”

It seemed that Detective Pronin was not the type to mince words. Yuuri pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocking it to bring up the picture. He passed it to the huge hand, feeling calloused fingers scrap his knuckles and repressing his shudder. The atmosphere, the intimidating presence, the secret meeting, all of it felt straight out of the suspense thrillers that his sister loved so much. Mari would probably be jealous of Yuuri’s current situation, and also very angry at him for putting himself in it. Thoughts buzzed through his mind, angry bees of anxiety and frustration, needy and searching for answers.

“Hm.”

The noncommittal noise rang through their isolated spot on the hill, bouncing off the surrounding trees and stabbing Yuuri directly in his stomach. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it hadn’t been the short sentences or lack of acknowledgement that he had received so far. Breathing deeply, Yuuri spoke, “you can see him in the background. Obviously he wasn’t an invited guest, anyone at the party would confirm that.” Yuuri observed the stoic expression on Detective Pronin’s face. It made him want to prove his point more than ever. “I know the brakes were cut on the car, this proves Celestino was there. It proves that he was messing with Victor’s car. It-”

“Doesn’t prove anything,” Detective Pronin cut off his childish rant with a raised hand. “Yes, Mr. Cialdini is there, but he could easily find a way to explain his presence. He is next to the car that you identify as Victor’s but the angle of this picture doesn’t show the license plate, so there is no proof of that either.” The statements were clipped, each marked by a large finger flicking up in the air, a count of all the ways that Yuuri felt his hope dying. “There were no finger prints on the car and the brake job looked professional, whoever did it knew what they were doing. Also, Mr. Cialdini has an alibi for that night.”

“His alibi has to be a lie though, because there he is in Victor’s driveway! Doesn’t that help at all?” The frustration boiled inside of him, making the bile rise in his throat. He thought he was going to be able to help Victor. He wanted the man responsible for their injuries, and possibly Victor’s parents’ deaths to be put in jail. Since the moment he had woken up in the hospital, Yuuri had been convinced that Celestino had something to do with the car accident, and his suspicions had felt validated when he discovered the picture. Sitting next to Detective Pronin, he felt all of his hopeful expectations disappearing. Shoving up from the bench, he paced over the uneven ground, feet angrily scattering stones with every step. “There has to be something we can do. It was him, you believe it was him, right?” Yuuri had lost his fear of the situation, replacing it with anger and a desperate need for resolution. He faced Pronin head on, no longer seeing an intimating man of pure muscle and scowl, but someone who should be his ally in this endeavor. He met the other set of dark eyes with a threat of challenge, daring Pronin to lie to him.

Sitting forward, hands clasped together over his knees, Detective Pronin nodded. “It is both my personal and professional opinion that Cialdini is behind the malfunction of Victor’s vehicle and of his father’s vehicle.” A large hand swiped over his face as Yuuri looked at him hopefully. “Mr. Nikiforov’s vehicle was destroyed when it entered the water, the bottom of that portion of the water body being much shallower than most realize. The car was crushed, both from impact and from attempting to lift it from the water with bodies still in it. A proper forensic analysis was difficult, and many were performed at an excessive cost to Victor.” Rubbing a hand over his forehead, Detective Pronin paused in his explanation. It was then that Yuuri realized why Victor trusted him. Despite the man’s outward appearance, it was obvious to Yuuri that he cared. He cared about Victor and his parents, and not solving either case was affecting him too. “The forensic analysis on Victor’s car was also difficult, but by keeping it out of the water you made it easier.” Yuuri nodded with understanding, taking his place on the bench once again. “Cialdini isn’t going to confess to either of these incidents, he would be a fool to do so and I have already spent hours upon hours grilling him. The man doesn’t crack.”

Yuuri heard the exhaustion, recognizing that Detective Pronin was a man that had run out of ideas. Luckily, Yuuri was formulating one of his own. Leaning forward, like the trees would reveal their secrets, Yuuri conveyed his partially developed thought to Detective Pronin in a hushed whisper. They stayed on the bench together until the plan was fully formed, returning to Detective Pronin’s cruiser with a jointly renewed hope for a better outcome.

* * *

 

Rolling over in the bed, Victor felt a distinct lack of warm Yuuri, cracking his eyes open to frown into the empty room. The sun had barely begun to sneak over the horizon and Victor was worried that Yuuri had snuck off somewhere in an effort to hide his pain from Victor. Slipping from the bed, Victor wandered toward the bathroom and then out to the common area, concern building as the emptiness of the apartment sunk in. Yuuri wasn’t there, unless he had decided to snuggle with Phichit instead, and Victor knew that wasn’t a possibility. They hadn’t talked about number of things they should have, but Yuuri had made it very clear that Victor was the first person he had an active interest in pursuing casual physical contact with. Victor knew that Yuuri and Phichit sometimes shared a bed, as he had Chris and done in the past, but that it wasn’t a reflection of Yuuri’s wants or needs. Sighing, Victor leaned against the window knowing he was rehashing old thoughts to keep the current ones at bay. Maybe Yuuri regretted his decisions from last night. Maybe he had fled the apartment to escape having to tell Victor that it had been a mistake, that their entire short-lived romance had been a mistake.

Part of him knew that he was being paranoid. Yuuri spent just as much time initiating contact between them. If Victor let the rational part of his mind have a say, it would loudly scream that Yuuri was not only an active member in their relationship, but also a driving force behind the establishment of it in the first place. He knew this, even though he couldn’t get his paranoia to shut up and give him peace. Closing his eyes, Victor reminded himself of the night they had shared, fueled by Yuuri’s pursuits for physical intimacy. As he felt his shoulders relax and the tension in his shoulders fade, his eyes fluttered open to witness a dark car come to a stop in front of the main door to the apartment building. It was familiar to him, but Victor couldn’t place why, studying the sleekness of the metal as the passenger door opened.

Yuuri moved from the passenger seat, Victor’s jacket zipped over his torso, never looking back at the driver as he moved toward the apartment door. In slow motion, Victor pushed away from the window, stumbling back toward the bed and yanking the covers up to his shoulders. A million thoughts flew through his head as he buried his head into the Yuuri-scented pillow and pretended to sleep.

Closing the door with controlled effort, Yuuri kicked his shoes into the stand, hanging Victor’s jacket back on the hook as he dropped a box of donuts onto the kitchen counter. Creeping back through the living room in socked feet, Yuuri hoped that the donuts would be a decent excuse in case either of them had woken to discover him gone. Once in his room, Yuuri slid himself free of his clothes and sling, curling back into bed with Victor. His boyfriend’s body wasn’t as warm as he expected it to be, but he cuddled into him anyway, seeking the comfort of Victor’s touch. The sun began to break over St. Petersburg and Yuuri was determined to enjoy the day, knowing that the next few would bring hell straight to his doorstep.

His lack of acting skills kept Victor from continuing his false pretense of sleep. Rolling over in bed, Victor found Yuuri’s lips eagerly waiting to meet his own. Letting himself get lost in the feeling of Yuuri, Victor tried to reassure himself that everything was fine. Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against Yuuri’s, failing to care about his morning breath. “I woke up and you were gone,” Victor ran a finger down Yuuri’s cheek wondering if the wince he thought he saw on Yuuri’s face was real, “where did you go?”

“Donuts,” Yuuri murmured, lips gracing over Victor’s as he leaned in for another kiss. “I wanted to surprise you and Phichit this morning.” He hated lying to Victor and felt his stomach churn with the feeling. Detective Pronin had warned him to keep Victor as far away from this situation as possible though and Yuuri intended to do anything required to protect Victor. Everything he would do in the next forty-eight hours would be for Victor, and Yuuri prayed that Victor would understand that.

He hadn’t known Yuuri that long, but Victor thought he could see the lie in Yuuri’s eyes, even with the kissing distracting him from lucid thought. He had two choices. Victor could trust Yuuri, place his unrestricted belief in the man who he adored, or he could try to get to the bottom of the situation. Even though it left him with a sick feeling, Victor decided to go with the first option, leaving all of his questions unsaid as he let Yuuri roll him over, wrapping his body into Yuuri’s to get lost in sensation.

* * *

 

“They’re walking, pay up,” Yurio shot toward Otabek as Yuuri, Victor, and Phichit entered the restaurant.

Yuuri paused, dropping Victor’s hand, eyes narrowing in the direction of his fiery protégé. “Excuse me?” He saw Yurio’s face turn bright red as he slipped the money into his pocket.

“They made a bet whether the two of you would be able to walk this afternoon. Which was after the bet about who would crack first,” Chris threw an arm around Victor’s shoulders and shook him. “Phichit, your Instagram is a gold mine, my friend.” Chris high fived Phichit behind Victor’s back making both him and Yuuri gawk in embarrassment.

“New rule,” Victor said, shaking Chris loose to drag Yuuri toward the office, “no more betting on my relationship.”

“Mine either!” Yuuri joked, letting Victor pull him in the direction of the kitchen as the chorus of laughter followed them. “They are ridiculous!” A final pull had Yuuri standing in the middle of the hallway, flush against Victor’s chest and grinning. “Well, hello,” Yuuri tipped up and kissed Victor, letting the memories of his morning in the park slip away to be replaced by the memories of his morning in bed with Victor.

It was too easy to forget. Holding Yuuri in his arms, kissing him as if Victor’s life depended on it, made letting go of all of his worries the simplest task in Victor’s life. The image of Yuuri stepping out of a black car whisked away, all of the conversations Victor had been forming in his mind were gone. There was only Yuuri and the feeling of him wrapped tightly against Victor.

“Yup!” A picture snapped as Yurio’s voice had them jumping apart, Yuuri falling back against the wall with a scowl. “They are making out! You owe me, Chris!”

Reaching to pull Yuuri back to him, Victor tipped his head in thought. “How many bets do you think they’ve placed on us?”

Yuuri hummed, returning to his place at Victor’s lips. “I am absolutely certain that I never want to know.” Together, they left their individual uncertainties to sort themselves out later.

* * *

 

A panicked Yurio slammed into the kitchen, skidding to a sloppy halt next to Yuuri. “Big…” he panted, Yuuri clamping his hand over Phichit’s mouth to prevent the inevitable joke, “problem…” Yurio took a deep breath, hand on his chest. “There is a woman out there, who looks like a dude, and she wants to order everything. I mean everything. The whole goddamn menu.” Yurio’s eyes were wide as he looked between Yuuri and Phichit who were having their own silent conversation. Without responding, they moved in unison to the kitchen door, dragging Yurio behind them.

“You think…” Phichit trailed off, searching the dining room for his own answer, “has to be him right?”

“Which table?” Yuuri peeked through the circular hole in the door, scrutinizing every patron in the place. He had a sneaking suspicion about the identity of the man woman, waiting for Yurio’s confirmation to declare his thoughts aloud.

Squeezing between Yuuri and Phichit’s shoulders, Yurio nodded to the left of the restaurant. “Table fifteen,” grimacing Yurio shook his head, “that is one ugly woman.”

Yuuri saw him first, curtly nodding toward Phichit to confirm their shared conclusion. Yakov, their favorite instructor from school and world-renowned restaurant critic, was sitting at table fifteen wearing a blue muumuu and a long gray wig. From their position in the kitchen, Yuuri could tell that he was also wearing makeup, his normal glasses propped against his squashed potato of a nose. He snorted, nudging Phichit with his elbow when Phichit began to laugh.

Victor had come to take up his normal spot, spying the adorable butt of his boyfriend lined up with his sous chef and his busboy in front of the opposite door. Many Yuuri kisses had been stolen that night, and Victor was riding the high of those moments, crossing the kitchen to wrap his arms around Yuuri’s waist and rest his chin on his shoulder. “What are we looking at?”

The tickle of breath on Yuuri’s neck had him reeling, sighing back into Victor’s hold. Visiting Victor in his office at every whim had been the best form of distraction from his annoying sling and spiraling thoughts about his meeting with Pronin. Every time the thoughts had crept in, Yuuri had flung himself from the kitchen seeking Victor’s affections. Avoidance and denial were tactics Yuuri knew and used well.

“Well, if you aren’t going to answer,” Phichit teased Yuuri with a poke to his face, emphasizing Yuuri’s inability to think once Victor was present. “Restaurant critic,” Phichit pointed out of the window, “and not just any restaurant critic. Yakov Feltsman.” A pin could have dropped in the Nikiforov kitchen. Phichit had spoken over the noise, calling everyone’s attention to their newest challenge.  

His father had tried for years to get Feltsman to visit Nikiforov’s. Despite the restaurant’s popularity, even with a large portion of famous people, the efforts had never been successful. Victor swallowed, arms limply falling away from Yuuri as he backed into the kitchen. He had grown up hearing stories about Feltsman’s reviews, his parents sometimes reading them out loud to each other over the breakfast table. When the internet had bloomed, Feltsman’s reviews were available in full volumes, his team running a website that brought his biting words directly to his followers’ devices without the need to purchase a paper. Now, the man was sitting in his dining room, and Victor was pretty sure he was having a heart attack.

Firing commands at his staff, Yuuri set the order at which food should be delivered to the table. There was no need to write it down, as Yuuri had been mentally preparing for this moment since the first day he stepped into this kitchen. Yanking Yurio to the counter, he shoved a pen into his hand, making a list of wines that he needed Chris to pour, giving Yurio distinct directions about when to deliver each glass to Yakov’s table. To his credit, Yurio took in every word Yuuri said, jotting notes down with his tongue pinched between his teeth in concentration. With a curt nod, Yurio jogged from the kitchen, obviously pleased that Yuuri trusted him personally with the task.

Yakov had never reviewed any of his dishes, except those that he was grading, and this was Yuuri’s moment to show him what he could do. Even if he unfortunately couldn’t do the work with his own two hands. In every kitchen he had ever run, he had waited for the day that Yakov would show up, dressed in one of his ridiculous disguises, to tell Yuuri whether or not he was good enough. It was unfortunate that he was restricted by his sling, but Yuuri could still adjust seasonings and garnish plates to his liking. In the end, this kitchen was his baby, and Phichit’s, and together they would make sure it shined.

He watched as plates began to line to counter, a specific portion of it now relegated to only the preparation and plating of Yakov’s meal. Phichit and Aniya would lead the plating, Yuuri providing directions and verifying the taste and quality of each dish. The rest of the kitchen would continue to prepare the other meals, with Yuuri also surveying the progress. Yakov’s review would be important to the restaurant, but Yuuri refused to ignore the rest of the patron’s for Yakov’s benefit. Even if they failed in Yakov’s eyes, their regulars would still appear every week, and they were more important than one review, even a Yakov Feltsman review. Stepping back to clear his mind, Yuuri surveyed his kitchen, pride puffing out his chest. Pleased at the efficiency of his team, he threw a grin in Victor’s direction, seeing the washed out cheeks and dazed eyes in place of the usually lively facial expressions. Grabbing Victor’s hand, Yuuri hauled him from the kitchen, not stopping until they stood toe-to-toe in Victor’s office.

Shaking took over his body, bringing Victor into a chair. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” Victor laced his fingers into his hair and tried to breath. “Yuuri, do you know who that man is?”

It was a sign of how much he cared about Victor that Yuuri didn’t burst out laughing. The surprise in this situation was not that Yuuri knew who Yakov was, but that Victor knew him. Sitting down next to him, Yuuri reached out to take Victor’s hand. “Don’t pull on your hair, my mom says that it causes baldness,” Yuuri laughed at Victor’s glare.

“Don’t even kid with me right now,” Victor said through gritted teeth, “my father only dreamed of having Yakov Feltsman here. He is probably watching me from the afterlife, screaming at me not to screw this up.” Closing his eyes, he slammed his head back against the chair.

Standing, Yuuri leaned over Victor, lightly running his fingers down his cheek. He wished that he could transfer all the memories he had of Yakov in class into Victor’s mind through osmosis. It would be exceptionally hard to be scared of a man who had once consumed an entire raw potato, simply to prove that he could. The mental image of Yakov teaching, biting into a potato like it was an apple, bits of it wedged into his cheek as he talked, made Yuuri chuckle. Knowing that he needed to return to his kitchen, he leaned down to kiss Victor, desperate to distract him from whatever circular thoughts he was experiencing. Brushing Victor’s hair from his forehead, Yuuri left another kiss there, crossing the room to pause at the door. “Victor?” He made sure to sound innocent in his question. Raising his head, Victor hummed in response. “If we get a good review, maybe we could celebrate by having sex on your desk. I’ve always wanted to do that.” His last vision of Victor, eyes wide, cheeks blazing red, hands gripping the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white, told Yuuri that he had succeed in his plans for distraction. Waltzing back to his kitchen, he prepared himself for a grueling night, grateful for his own distraction from life.

* * *

 

Thursday dawned bright and cheerful, with a heavy feeling of impending rain. As Yuuri laid in bed, Victor curled into his chest, looking at the weather app on his phone, he couldn’t stop assessing the irony of the predictions. Hot and sunny, straight through until five that evening, which would bring storms throughout St. Petersburg. How fitting, he thought bitterly, five o’clock was the time he was scheduled to meet with Celestino. It would be difficult to slip from the restaurant, knowing that he would have to spring covering for him on Phichit at the last moment. His best friend would not be happy with him, although Yuuri knew he would still lie for him to keep Victor safe.

If he returned to the restaurant safely after the meeting, Yuuri promised himself he would tell Victor everything. Hopefully by then, Celestino would be on his way into police custody and Victor would no longer be in danger. He was risking Victor being angry with him. He was risking Victor firing him, before they could even have a discussion about the permanency of his employment. The one thing he wouldn’t risk was Victor’s life. Snuggling into Victor’s embrace, switching their positions so Yuuri was cradled onto Victor’s chest, he heaved a sigh into the sleep-warm skin. Celestino had proved that he would go to extreme lengths to get rid of any member of the Nikiforov family, and Yuuri couldn’t stand by waiting for something else to happen. Victor’s life was more important than Yuuri’s happiness and comfort, and he would risk everything to protect him. Even if it meant there was a chance of losing him.

Sunrays danced over Victor’s face bringing him back to the small, dingy walls of Yuuri’s bedroom. He shifted, arms full of Yuuri, smiling into the dark hair that was pressed into his chin. This was a feeling he could wake up to every day of his life and never get tired of it. Kissing into Yuuri’s messy tangles, he grinned when Yuuri’s drowsy face looked up into his own. Searching for a proper kiss, Victor wiggled in bed, bringing himself even with Yuuri. Hands slid over skin, light touches and smalls presses as they sleepily stared at each other. Behind his head, Victor’s cell began to make warning noises, singing in regretful harmony with Yuuri’s phone. They both turned, retrieving their phones to find Phichit’s message reflecting from each one. Yakov’s review had been posted and judging by Phichit’s excessively joyous emjois, they had not fallen on their faces.

Opening the link at the same time, they silently read the review individually, lips moving as they devoured the paragraphs. They were a hit. The first paragraph covered the atmosphere of the restaurant, remarking about the color scheme and the overall feel of the place. This paragraph made Yakov review history, as he never wrote about anything other than the food and the service, but there in their hands were ten lines assessing the welcoming and loving ambiance of Nikiforov’s. For a moment, Victor paused, taking in the information slowly, willing himself to breath. Somewhere, he knew his mother was doing her happy dance and tears threatened his eyes as he willed himself to keep reading.

The next paragraph covered the service, discussing the playful nature of the staff and the feeling of family that radiated from all of them. There were very sweet comments about the waiters, making Victor want to give them all raises. Pausing at a sentence talking about the young waiter with excellent manners who possessed an extensive knowledge of wine, Victor made a confused noise in Yuuri’s direction. He couldn’t determine which waiter the article was discussing, even with a thorough mental review of this staff.

“Yurio,” Yuuri said without looking up. He already had plans to read Yakov’s comments out loud to the entire staff, placing extra emphasis on his appraisal of Yurio. His young protégé picked the wrong person to take bets on and Yuuri planned to seek swift and immediate revenge.

Victor hummed, wondering how it was that anyone coaxed manners out of Yurio. Distracted by Yuuri’s adorably furrowed brow, Victor had to remind himself to keep reading. Refocusing, he brushed through the rest of the service analysis, noting only the criticism of the lack of a valet service. Their parking lot was isolated and belonged only to the restaurant making a valet an unneeded expense. Shrugging off the comment, Victor flicked his finger to move onto the next paragraph.

Which turned out, were the next _paragraphs_. Five of them to be exact, all discussing the magical food being served at Nikiforov’s. Victor had read every review ever written by Yakov Feltsman and had never seen a review like this one. It was eight paragraphs long to start with, which was unheard of as Feltsman usually stayed in a three paragraph format, one for service and two for food. This review had included the opening paragraph examining Nikiforov’s as a whole, and led into a detailed summary of every dish that had been served.

“I guess I didn’t screw up the flambé too badly, considering I was one-handed and last time I caught myself on fire,” Yuuri glanced up from his screen briefly, “of course, no one was there to try to whistle me to death, so that probably helped.” He chuckled when Victor pouted at him, returning to his reading. Yuuri was shaking and was trying very hard to suppress it. Yakov was famous for his harsh criticism, famously causing students to quit school altogether and causing many chefs to quit the business, some at the height of their career. He was brutally honest and not known to throw compliments around.

The review of Nikiforov’s, however, was filled to the brim with beautifully worded adjectives describing everything from the paint on the walls to the garnish on the plates. Yuuri was on his second reading of the paragraphs regarding his food, when his thumb flicked a little too hard, bringing up a paragraph he had missed the first time through. Four lines, closing the review, apologizing to Victor’s father for never heeding his requests to review the restaurant. The last line had emotion closing Yuuri’s throat, his teary eyes searching for Victor’s.

_Greatness is seldom touched by the mortal, yet Nikiforov’s feels as close to immortal greatness as one can find on earth; a legacy achievement any parent would be proud of. Cheers._

Victor couldn’t process thoughts in any order or language. He stared dumbfounded at the screen of his phone, trying to ensure that what he was reading was real. Yakov Feltsman, famous for making or breaking the careers of restaurateurs and chefs alike, had given him the best compliment that anyone ever could. He couldn’t tell if his heart was breaking or mending, and the tears ran over his cheeks as Yuuri pulled Victor tight to him. “Do you think they would be proud?” He was sniffling into Yuuri’s chest, uncaring as to how unattractive the action might be.

“I think,” thick with emotion, Yuuri cleared his throat, “I think, your parents were probably always proud of you. You’re wonderful, Victor, and brave, and smart. Now the world can see what you are capable of, not just your beautiful face. They get to see you the way I do.” He felt Victor snuggle deeper against his chest and Yuuri tugged him closer, their phones erupting underneath them as the review was read by their staff.

The desire to stay in bed, curled into Yuuri forever, was herculean strong and Victor let himself remain cuddled until another thought crossed his mind. Slipping out of Yuuri’s grasp, Victor rose to dress for the work day, humming as Yuuri whined in protest from the bed. “Yuuri,” Victor said as he pulled on his pants, “we need to get to the restaurant early today.”

Elbow bracing him, Yuuri groaned, “we just got a stellar review, can’t we relax a bit? The restaurant doesn’t open until four.” Yuuri didn’t want to leave the comfort of his bed or the happy glow brought on by the review, both being excellent ways to aid in his disillusionment about his evening plans. “Victor, come back,” Yuuri tried to look at his boyfriend seductively, “if you come back, we can celebrate.” He wiggled his eyebrows, letting the covers fall to his waist exposing his naked chest.

“We are going to celebrate,” Victor stated, leaning over the edge of the bed to kiss Yuuri. “I’m holding you to the desk, Yuuri,” Victor purred, “literally.” He waltzed from the room in search of breakfast, happily humming to himself.

The blankets tangled Yuuri’s legs when he raced to escape the bed, eager to fulfill a fantasy that had been following him around since the first time he walked into Victor’s office. (4)

* * *

 

Everything was running smoothly in the kitchen, the first orders of the day already being whisked away by the refreshed waiters, an air of happiness and elation coating every surface of the restaurant. They had all gathered at two that afternoon, at Victor’s request, with lunch being served by Yuuri and Phichit while Chris did a dramatic reading of Yakov’s review. Chris’s reading took place with him standing on the bar, Georgi providing assistance and everyone laughing when they both slipped into terrible accents. Everyone had laughed, eaten and celebrated their success together, also taking time to harass Yurio for demonstrations of his excellent manners. He had claimed an out-of-body experience, making everyone howl with laughter as Yurio’s cheeks turned a dark red.

No one had celebrated quite like Yuuri and Victor though. They had arrived at the restaurant a full three hours ahead of everyone else, fulfilling every fantasy they would admit to each other on every viable surface of the restaurant. The last forty five minutes had been a race to scrub the more public surfaces, Yuuri smiling at the spot on the bar under Chris during his monologue and blushing when Victor caught his eye. If there was a bet about where and when they would do it at the restaurant, probably everyone in the pool had won that day, not that they would ever have the luxury of knowing it.

He kept those thoughts running in his mind, thoughts of passion and laughter, as he pulled Phichit toward the walk-in fridge, dread thudding heavy on his shoulders. His explanation was brief, Phichit’s anger was not. Hugging his best friend tightly, he begged for forgiveness, slipping away out of the back door without ever receiving his answer. Pronin’s car was waiting for him, driving silently away from Nikiforov’s and the family that he loved.

* * *

 

It took twenty minutes in the parking lot near the abandoned playground to prep Yuuri for what was to come. Once the meeting was over, successful or not, he would be handed his own clothes and returned to the restaurant, hopefully unscathed. Pronin gave him all the necessary speeches about being a civilian working with the police and Yuuri worked to keep his reservations shoved into the back of his mind. He was doing this for Victor, and with his love as motivation, Yuuri sank into the rear of the car, waiting for his undercover driver to drop him at his meeting spot with Celestino.

Driving back through the streets of St. Petersburg, Yuuri recalled how easy it was to lure Celestino into the meeting. Victor wasn’t paying him, Yuuri had stated, the restaurant was surviving only because of Yuuri’s hard work and he was tired of it. Celestino had a reputation for being able to handle the Nikiforov’s and Yuuri needed help. None of those statements were true, but Celestino, in his blind hatred of Victor, had bought them without question, agreeing to meet with Yuuri to help him figure out how to handle the situation. Celestino had almost sounded eager, Yuuri thought, the bitterness souring his stomach. The man truly was the worst kind of human, and Yuuri couldn’t contain his hopeful thinking that this would finally be the reason Celestino saw the inside of a jail cell.

The front of the café appeared too fast for Yuuri’s liking. Making a show of handing the fake money to the driver, Yuuri vacated the car, careful to keep his arm from swinging. He had insisted that the sling stay off for this, worrying that its presence was a sign of weakness. Yuuri wasn’t weak, and he couldn’t let Celestino believe that he was, even for a second. Pushing open the door, he smiled at the bells that sang to indicate his entrance. The smile disappeared instantly as he spotted the dark eyes unblinking in his direction overtop of a crocked nose. If Detective Pronin was intimidating, Celestino was downright terrifying, dark and menacing in the same way a comic book villain would be. Shoving the fear down, Yuuri crossed the pink flowered tile to sit across from his adversary at the remarkably tiny table.

“Ah,” even the one sound syllable was condescending, “if it isn’t little hero boy. You are stronger than you look, little chef.” Celestino cracked his knuckles on the table, not caring about Yuuri’s inability to respond. “So… you’re being screwed by a Nikiforov, yes?”

His cheeks wanted to flush, knowing the answer was a resounding yes, even if Celestino didn’t mean it in the way Yuuri was thinking. Yuuri kept them from doing so by concentrating on moving the fake cell phone into position on his lap. Detective Pronin assured him that this distance would allow the receiver to pick up all parts of their conversation. Cracking his neck, in what he hoped wasn’t an intimidating motion, since he was supposed to be the victim in this scenario, Yuuri turned wide eyes to Celestino. “He hasn’t paid me a dime since I started working there. He hasn’t paid my sous chef, either.” This part was easy since, technically, it was a fact that they hadn’t received a paycheck from Nikiforov’s yet. “He is always taking the credit for all of the work I do and the others do. You should have seen him today after Yakov Feltsman’s review, which I’m sure you saw,” he paused to let Celestino nod in acknowledgement, “all high and mighty, pointing out the parts that were about him and his work. There were five paragraphs about my food!” Yuuri slammed his fist down on the table, seeing the glee building in Celestino’s eyes. “If his parents were anything like him, I don’t know how you handled it. No wonder you left when he took over. Now I need to figure out how to get out, even though I love the actual restaurant. You got away, how did you manage it?” It was one of the final nails, and Yuuri hoped it would be the reason Celestino started talking.

“Nikiforov’s should have been mine,” Celestino growled with a far off look in his eyes, “it was promised to me when that brat Victor was just a tiny brat. His father was the same way. So full of himself and greedy. That’s why Nikiforov’s would have been better in my hands, instead they left it to that idiot.” Celestino took a turn slamming his fist on the table, “it should have been mine.”

Weighing the atmosphere, Yuuri took a left turn from the prompts that he was provided by Pronin. “What would you do differently, if Nikiforov’s was yours?” Chef’s always wanted to talk about their work and their visions, it was like asking a writer about their plot line.

“First, the whole place needs to be redecorated,” Celestino sat back against his chair, hands propped behind his head, “then the menu, it needs to be changed. Same menu for over twenty years. It’s boring.”

“Agreed,” Yuuri mimicked Celestino’s casual pose, “I added a chef’s special, but even that was a fight. Everything is a fight.” He sighed in what he hoped was forlorn manner.

“Nikiforovs always think they know what is best,” Celestino snorted, “from where they build their houses, to the way the run their business, to the stupid cars they drive. They know everything, everyone else is stupid.”

“I won’t argue with any of that,” Yuuri flexed his arm, wincing dramatically as he did, “the business is killing my spirit, and the combination of the driveway from their house and Victor’s stupid defective car almost killed me.”

“Well, you saved yourself there, pulling the steering wheel the way you did, avoided you careening off the same place on the driveway as the original idiots Nikiforov.” Celestino smiled at a young waitress ordering a coffee and a pastry.

Fingers curling around the phone, Yuuri tried to remain calm. There was no way Celestino could have known that Yuuri was the one who kept them from flying off the cliff into the water. He was pretty sure that there was no way that Celestino could have known the exact location that Victor’s parents had lost control. Unless he had been watching both incidents. “What would have happened if Victor had died in the car accident? With the restaurant I mean?” He asked his questions in a manner that he hoped conveyed some kind of hopefulness, like a man who was looking to escape his captor.

It appeared to work as Celestino leaned over the table, hands folded together with a devious look on his face. “If Victor dies, the restaurant goes up for public auction, the building, the business all of it.” He was studying Yuuri’s face, so Yuuri tried to look pleasantly intrigued by the idea, despite the illness twisting his stomach into knots. “Look, kid, if you want to get out from under Victor, you could help me. You got in my way by keeping that car on the road, so you owe me one. How about you help me remove Victor from the living world once and for all?”

 _ **Beep. Beep.**_ The cell phone in his hand gave the warning tone. His job was over, they had what they needed. His breath was exhaling from him rapidly as Yuuri leaned toward Celestino with a smirk on his face. “Got ya,” he whispered as Detective Pronin and his partner appeared on either side of Celestino, hauling him from his seat and out of the front door of the café.

* * *

 

Rain began to fall, a promise of the larger storm to come as Yuuri stood under the café’s overhang observing the police officers at work. The past five minutes of his life were replaying in his mind, a surreal movie highlight reel of Celestino kicking a table over and loudly threatening his life. Surprisingly, Yuuri hadn’t thought to feel fear, assuming that would be the prominent emotion once the adrenaline wore off. For now, he felt numb, waiting for someone to offer him a ride back to reality.

“So what now?” Detective Pronin came to stand next to Yuuri, handing him a back of his belongings, as they watched Celestino rage in the back of the police cruiser.

Yuuri understood, after a long explanation by another detective, that it was rare for a suspect to be dragged from such a public place and arrested immediately. They were confident that the statements Celestino made would push them beyond circumstantial evidence, and took him into custody for the safety of Yuuri and ultimately Victor as well. Yuuri stood with his arms tucked against his sides, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He shook his head unsure of how to answer Detective Pronin’s question. It would all depend on how Victor reacted to the news of what had taken place today. “I guess,” Yuuri glanced upwards at Pronin, chewing on his lip, “it really depends on Victor.” It sounded lame, even to his ears.

“Might I suggest some derivative of happily ever after? I believe you two have earned it.” Detective Pronin’s face broke into a lop-sided smile at Yuuri’s gawking confusion. “I’m a hopeless romantic, what can I say?” He lifted a large hand into a shrug, making Yuuri think he had misjudged his book by the cover. “Shall I take you back to your family then?” Pronin slapped Yuuri on the shoulder, strolling out into the rain prompting Yuuri to follow him to the cruiser one last time.

* * *

 

The storm raged over St. Petersburg, bringing the busy dining room to a crashing halt. Victor had been running around for most the evening, being pulled into various tasks by each staffer for the better part of two hours. Unlike the night before, he hadn’t even seen Yuuri, let alone stolen any moments away with him. He clung to the memories of their early escapades to keep himself sane, finally slipping away to sneak into the kitchen. Taking up his normal spot, Victor watched the action for a full five minutes before he realized Yuuri wasn’t there. “Phichit!” Victor called, watching as Phichit directly changed his course and run for the walk-in fridge. Alarm bells went off in Victor’s head sending him striding through the kitchen. Aniya tried to call his name, but he shook her off, slamming open the door to the fridge. “Phichit, where is he?” Every part of Victor knew that Phichit was hiding something, and he did not have any positive inklings about what it could be. He watched Phichit fumble with bins of prepped vegetables, muttering and sputtering without providing a real answer. The ringing of the phone in his pocket captured his attention and Phichit ran passed him. “We are not finished with this conversation!” Victor yelled, answering the phone without looking to see who it was.

“Victor,” Detective Pronin’s voice vibrated in his ear as fear slammed into his stomach. He went deaf for several seconds, Yuuri’s name pounding in his ears while Victor prayed for his safety. Moving in a trance through the kitchen, he finally started hearing Pronin’s words. “Your boyfriend is very brave. Celestino is going to go away for a long time because of him.”

Victor snapped full force back to the conversation. “Back up,” he said, a little more shaken than he let on, “I’m sorry, can you say all of that again?” He leaned against the wall in the hallway, hand pressed into his stomach.

“Yuuri helped us secure a confession from Celestino. He was arrested tonight,” Pronin shuffled, seemingly covering the phone for a second before returning to it. “He wasn’t harmed Victor, so please don’t do any harm yourself. What he did tonight was very brave and we finally have what we need to hopefully put Celestino away for a very long time. From what I can tell, that man loves you very much, so go easy on him.” That last line was spoken into Victor’s ear as Yuuri appeared at the end of the hallway.

It had to be a coincidence that Victor was leaning in the exact spot where Yuuri had found him after he had thrown Celestino out of the restaurant. Now, Yuuri had hopefully thrown him from their lives forever. Walking slowly, Yuuri approached Victor, pulling him into a hug.

He didn’t know what to do. His body reacted without his mind, circling Yuuri with his arms to hold him close. This beautiful man had once again saved him, and the guilt was crippling. Kissing him briefly, since Yuuri reached for it and Victor didn’t have the wherewithal to deny it, Victor let the guilt build. If it wasn’t for him, Yuuri wouldn’t have put himself in a dangerous situation. If it wasn’t for him, Yuuri wouldn’t be trapped in the sling that pressed between them. Relinquishing one last kiss, Victor forced himself to smile, “you might want to get back to work Chef Katsuki. I think your kitchen needs you in case of another power outage.” Stepping away, Victor slipped to his office, closing the door quietly behind him.

Outside, the storm gained strength pounding against the building with feral force. Inside, the storm was far quieter, still as damaging as Yuuri moved into the kitchen, convinced that he had simultaneously saved and destroyed the best thing he had ever known.

* * *

 

The power went out at ten o’clock and they were all prepared for it. Customers hadn’t entered the restaurant since eight and they had all left before nine. The generators were in place, and all the tables had been closed down, the linens already stripped and prepared for the next day. Mila had taken the time to prep Phichit on the opening and closing duties so that she and Victor could attend the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner festivities for JJ and Isabella. Yuuri was grateful that the dinner was taking place at JJ’s parent’s house, giving them the time to set up for the wedding reception before they left on Friday night. Yuuri would miss Victor, as he was being required to spend the night at JJ’s the night before the wedding, but he was really looking forward to celebrating with everyone on Saturday night. The preparations had been hell, but his kitchen was ready.

Saying goodnight to his staff, Yuuri shut and locked the door, smiling at Mila and Phichit going over last minute details at the bar. He stole away from the main area aiming to locate Victor in his office. His body was definitely not up for another round that night, although cuddling in the arms of his love sounded like a great way to ride out the remaining hours of the storm, even if he was going to have to fill Victor in on the events of the day. Knocking lightly on the still closed door, he pushed it open without receiving an answer. Victor sat at his desk, fingers folded, staring blankly into space. Slithering behind him, Yuuri massaged into Victor’s shoulders, kissing the top of his head.

“Where did you go tonight?”

The question was flat, making Yuuri’s stomach feel queasy. He wanted to tell Victor the story, beginning to end, in the quiet of his room, wrapped in each other’s arms where it wouldn’t feel so scary. He couldn’t lie anymore, and the answer would have to come now, whether he liked it or not. “I was with Detective Pronin,” Yuuri said, breathing through the statement. “I discovered this,” he slid his phone with the enlarged picture of Celestino in Victor’s driveway in front of Victor on the desk, “and we put a plan together to get Celestino to confess.” He spun Victor’s chair around to face him, cupping Victor’s face in his hands. “They arrested him tonight. Celestino is going away. You’re safe now, Victor.” He went to kiss Victor, knocked backwards as Victor stood up to move around the desk.

“You could’ve gotten hurt,” Victor felt the lump in his throat, “you should have told me.”

Yuuri pulled on his arm, trying to get Victor to face him. “Detective Pronin told me not to. He said it would be safer for you if you didn’t know. All I did was meet Celestino at a café and lie to get him to admit that he tampered with the cars. After that, he was hauled to the police station for further questioning. Pronin may be able to get him for our accident and your parents. You were right, Victor, and he is gone. And you’re safe.” Victor turned to face him and Yuuri felt the storm of anxiety roll into his brain. He couldn’t understand what he was seeing in Victor’s eyes, his failure to read people coming back with a vengeance. His chest constricted and he silently begged Victor to say something.

“I’m going to sleep at my house tonight,” Victor backed away from him, dropping his arms. “Since the moment I saw you lying unconscious in that hospital bed, I vowed to myself that I would give you a chance to leave. A chance to run from me before you got hurt any worse or got sucked into my chaos. Tonight proved that keeping you here, with me, was wrong. You will be safer somewhere else.” Victor moved further away from Yuuri, not touching him and not turning back, his hitching breath Yuuri’s only confirmation that he was crying. “I’m sorry Yuuri, but we have to end this.”

Then he was alone, standing in the office where they had been joined as one only hours prior, celebrating the empire they had built together in a physical expression of their love. The day had started with love surrounding him, guiding him to protect the man he adored and the family he loved. It had ended with Yuuri, standing alone, heart in his hands broken into a million irreparable pieces. He had achieved his goal. He had sacrificed himself to keep Victor safe. Crumpling to the ground he let the consequences of those decisions break over him until there was nothing left but the sounds of his sorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (4) Celebrate Good Times - F Me! (the one with ALL the restaurant sex) Chapter 4 of [The Sex Scenes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11021562)
> 
> Yes, I wrote this. Still in shock.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who is ready for this chapter? Because I wasn't. I still may not be and I am posting it. 
> 
> This is it. This is the last chapter. Chapter 14 is the epilogue. The epilogue will go up next weekend, along with a side fic which will be comprised of ALL the cut smut scenes. (Thank fullmetalkarneval13 for this, she convinced me to write them all). 
> 
> To everyone who has gone on this journey with me, thank you for being here. Thank you for reading, commenting, and supporting this fic. I have a lot of words, but none that accurately convey how much each of you mean to me. 
> 
> From the bottom of my delicate heart, thank you so very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Something Just Like This by Coldplay and the Chainsmokers

There had been nights when sleep evaded him, pulling him close to the edge of subconscious only to shove him brutally back to consciousness. Then there had been nights when sleep came easily, but was a temporary visitor, leaving him long before the sun came up to signal a new day. On Thursday night, sleep danced around the edge of Yuuri’s bed, taunting him with the potential for relief, never getting close enough to grant it.

Phichit had come for him, as Phichit always did, gathering Yuuri’s sobbing body from the floor of Victor’s office. Victor and Mila had left, with Victor looking equally as devastated according to Phichit. This statement had brought the anger, the knowledge that Victor had hurt them both for absolutely no reason. Yuuri had broken from Phichit’s grasp, racing through the restaurant, slamming out of the doors to watch Victor’s car disappear from the parking lot. There was pain, and there was watching the love of his life drive away without looking back. Yuuri was sure that the latter was going to kill him.

Tears had ebbed and flowed through the dragging hours of the night, never ceasing, only changing in levels of intensity. Phichit had slipped tea onto his bedside table, staying to hold Yuuri as his shoulders shook from his grief. Sometime tomorrow, Phichit would come to him with advice, talking to him with reasonable thoughts and convincing plans. In the late hours of Thursday, Yuuri was grateful when Phichit remained silent, holding him through the never-ending stream of hurt.

Maybe part of Yuuri had considered the risk of losing Victor over his decisions. Even with his ever-present anxiety, he had never believed it would actually happen. His heart had been convinced that Victor would be angry, convinced that they would figure out how to handle that anger together. They had survived the car accident, Yuuri had been convinced that they could survive this.

Somewhere around four a.m., Yuuri realized that they had never discussed the accident. Sitting straight up in his bed, sweaty sheets clinging to his bare chest, Yuuri stared wide-eyed into the dark room. They discussed their nightmares, discussed their mutual relief to still be together and alive, but they never talked about that day. Yuuri had been guarded about the details of his dreams, and it was suddenly sinking in that Victor could have been operating the same way. For every instance that Yuuri protected Victor by not stating the whole truth, Victor could have been using the same tactic. Stirring with that thought, Yuuri agonizingly acknowledged that Victor had never provided him with the details of the accident. All of the details Yuuri knew were from Detective Pronin. Victor didn’t know that Yuuri had any information at all. From Victor’s viewpoint, Yuuri had gone into the situation with Celestino without any facts or warning. Groaning, Yuuri slammed back onto his pillows.

Victor could have reasoned that Pronin had filled Yuuri in, but Yuuri never gave Victor the chance to have an opinion on the matter. He had blind-sided his love with the knowledge of Celestino’s potential conviction. Simultaneously, Yuuri had thrown in the news that he had been the one to confront Celestino. Pronin had told Yuuri not to tell Victor to ensure his safety, and Yuuri had followed that advice blindly. His own stupidity settled on him, heavier and clingier than his sweat-soaked bedsheets.

The sobs returned, grief and guilt blurring together to burn his chest. There had to be a way to fix this. Yuuri had no idea where to start. Feeling helpless and hopeless, curling into the pillow that still smelled like Victor, exhaustion finally caught up to him with a mere hour left available for sleep.

* * *

In his sleep, Victor reached to his right grasping at a form that wasn’t there. The lack of warm body brought him back into the room, disrupting a dream that he would never remember. Easing onto his back, Victor stared at his ceiling.

He used to love this room. He loved being surrounded by a place that so heavily sang with his parents’ love, loved being in a space that had been theirs. They were still there, in every detail of the elaborate bathroom and the carefully chosen furniture.

Now, Victor could only long for the small box of a room, with yellowing walls and scattered articles of clothing. A room that was always a few degrees too warm, an oddly colored bathroom, and the scent of Yuuri in every inch of the space. Tears rolled down his already swollen cheeks, joining the stained streaks from hours earlier. He had cried himself to sleep, and had woken up in the same condition.

He was no stranger to loss, everything in his world had been tainted with it for the last six months. He had grieved his parents, picking himself slowly back up to continue their legacy. Yesterday or a million years ago, Victor couldn’t decide which felt more accurate, he had received confirmation that he had achieved this goal. The happiness of that realization felt so far away, Victor wondered if it had occurred in another lifetime. He hadn’t done it alone. Victor had his self-made family who had all come to his rescue, none more than…

Yuuri.

As the pink cheeks, deep brown eyes and messy black hair took over his mind, the strangled cries ripped his chest in two. Out of all of the tears he had shed, none of them had ever felt this useless. Hours of sobbing hadn’t lessened the crushing feeling, the torturous wrenching of his heart as it smashed into nothingness in his chest. And he had done it to himself. He had shoved Yuuri away, practically running from the restaurant to keep himself from taking it back. Yuuri had to be safe, Victor couldn’t handle any other possibility. Yuuri would find happiness somewhere else, he would make any restaurant a success, and Victor told himself Yuuri didn’t need him to be happy. Not the way Victor needed Yuuri.

 _It doesn’t matter_ _,_ Victor silently screamed into his pillow, punching his too-soft mattress as the sobs choked him. The pressure in his head flooded to his ears, causing the world to close off. He wasn’t going to give in to his own wants. Letting Yuuri go was the right thing to do. His heart wasn’t worth putting Yuuri in danger.

Throwing his covers from his body, Victor heaved his body from his bed, praying that his shower could provide any sort of relief.

* * *

Walking into Nikiforov’s on Friday morning was a special sort of hell. Victor wouldn’t be there that day. In fact, Yuuri had no chance of seeing Victor any time prior to the procession of Isabella’s wedding party down the church aisle. Even then, they wouldn’t be able to talk. Yuuri and Phichit would watch the ceremony from the furthest pews, allowing them to exit before JJ and Isabella made their own grand walk out of the back of the church. This was the plan to allow them to attend the wedding and still have appetizers and dinner prepared for the reception. Isabella had text him during his commute into the restaurant, verifying that he would be there and conveying her own nerves. He omitted the change in his relationship with Victor when he had sent his response, unknowing how to address it without bursting into tears.

Inside the restaurant, there was no evidence that anything had changed. An excitement buzzed through the air, brought on by the early closing and the preparations for the next day’s wedding. Delivered linens and long ribbons were stacked in the hallway, along with Isabella’s favors, seating chart, and name plates. Standing over the box, Yuuri let his fingers slid over the tiny chiffon bags, fondly remembering the day he had assembled them with Isabella. Why did the memory feel so distant? His heart tried to feed him an answer, but his brain blocked it, obviously knowing that no good could come from the analysis. Willing himself away from the stacks of decorations, Yuuri moved into his kitchen, noting the prep work already being completed. The grand scale wedding cake was positioned in front of Aniya who was making last minute adjustments, grunting and squinting at each detail. It would be a beautiful event, even though Yuuri would be in no shape to enjoy it. Sighing, he shuffled through the kitchen, entering the walk-in fridge to double-check all of their preparations for the next night. When the heavy door slammed behind him, Yuuri squealed, jumping back and smacking his head on a low shelf. Cursing under his breath, he turned on his intruder, hand still rubbing at the back of his head.

“What did you two idiots do?”

Yurio stood in front of him, arms crossed and brows furrowed. Anger was not his prominent emotion for once, instead it was replaced by a tone that sounded scarily close to concerned. Dropping his hand Yuuri stared at Yurio. “We didn’t do anything,” Yuuri said flatly, letting his arms hang at his sides, “Victor broke up with me. End of story.”

“Not the end of the story,” Yurio stepped forward, jabbing Yuuri in the chest, “you two are more in love than any idiots I have ever seen. Whatever happened, fix it.”

It was frustrating how easy Yurio made it sound. Leaning back to cross his arms, Yuuri shook his head. “You make it sound stupid easy, but it isn’t. He thinks he is keeping me safe by breaking it off with me. I can’t change his mind on that.” Watching Yurio closely, Yuuri was able to pinpoint the exact moment that Yurio began to sneer at him.

“You can change it. And you will.” Yurio stepped forward, again jabbing his finger repeatedly into Yuuri’s chest. “Victor doesn’t like being lied to, that much I have figured out, but with the right explanation, he will understand why you did it.” Yurio’s eyes dropped to his shoes. “Look at me, I lied about my age and I’m still here.”

The desire to argue was whipped away with Yurio’s last fleeting statement. No one liked to be lied to, Yuuri understood that, but Victor was incredibly understanding when given the chance to be. Yurio had aged himself four years to get his job, and Victor had let it slide when he found out, never even considering the possibility of firing the too-young busboy. If Yuuri could just get Victor to talk to him… a violent shake of his shoulders interrupted his thoughts.

“Hey!” Yurio was in his face now, yelling at him for attention. “Fix this! This place won’t work without you. And you don’t seem to work without him. Stop being stupid!” Yurio slammed from the fridge, the banging door startling Yuuri a second time.

Covered in an indecisive fog, Yuuri returned to his itemization sheet, checking the prepped boxes in the fridge without really seeing what was in front of him. Stop being stupid. Solid advice if he could get Victor to do the same thing. Feeling the tears threatening to gather again, Yuuri removed the thoughts of Victor from his brain, concentrating on the task in front of him, praying to make it through the night without crying.

* * *

Everyone was happy. All around Victor happiness was a vibrating song, accentuated with clinking glasses, exuberant laughter, and emotional speeches. JJ’s backyard was filled to the brim with celebrating people, and Victor stood in the middle of it, feeling like an island of misery.

His speech had been a struggle and had left Victor thankful that he wasn’t required to speak at the reception the next day. There had been a handful of laughs, spurring Victor along, even when he had reached the portions of the speech inspired by his own love. Tears had prickled against his eyelashes and he was glad that most guests seemed to assume that it was his best friend’s wedding causing his emotions. The way Chris and Otabek had dragged him from the party told Victor that at least two of them had figured differently. He found himself sitting on a chair, in a dark hallway, Chris and Otabek taking turns telling him how dumb they thought he was being. Their words barely scratched the surface of his skin, even with the surprising emotion leaking from the normally stoic Otabek.

It did make him wonder about the atmosphere at his restaurant. Victor had spotted Mila, Sara and Isabella tucked in a group together, Sara and Isabella throwing glances at him over their shoulders as Mila talked. Luckily, they had been whisked away by Isabella’s mom to meet an astounding amount of relatives, making it easy for Victor to dodge them. It would be harder to continue to avoid his friends once the party died down and Victor felt the impending lectures hanging around him in the dark of the hallway.

Cupping his face into his hands, he let the tears escape. Chris had stormed away from him in frustration, muttering his way from the darkened space in a flurry of aggravation. Otabek had stayed behind only briefly, patting Victor on the shoulder while reprimanding him for making such a rash decision. Those quiet words should have penetrated, but Victor felt nothing. Nothing but his only profound sadness.

A soft noise made him bring up his head. Standing in front of him, a vision in excellently crafted lace, was his friend’s bride-to-be. Isabella’s face was framed by her dark hair, eyes solemn and concerned in the dimly lit space. It was the silence that got him. The way she knelt in front of him, pulling his shoulders onto her smaller frame and bracing him there without warning. The emotional dam broke, releasing the flood of feelings that he had been carefully blocking all night. Tears ran off of his face and onto the delicate lace as Victor lost all of his misguided control.

“Let it out,” Isabella was speaking into his hair line, her slight fingers rubbing circles into his back. They weren’t close, in fact, they had hardly ever interacted outside of the group and Victor was gratefully surprised at her level of support. He was even more surprised by how easily he accepted it. “You don’t have to say anything.” She didn’t expect him to explain himself, and somehow that spurred him to do so.

“Yuuri,” Victor hiccuped, sitting back to pull Isabella from the ground. He watched as she leaned back against the wall, keeping his hand tucked into hers. She was remarkably beautiful, but it was the kindness and understanding that radiated most. Wiping a hand down his face, Victor tried again. “I love him. I don’t know that he knows, but I do,” Victor sank further into the chair. “He keeps risking his life for me. Who does that? He isn’t a superhero, but he keeps acting like he is.” Shaking his head, Victor tried to wrap his thoughts together in concise sentences. “I can’t let him stay in my world. It’s too much. What if something happened to him?”

“Like getting his heart broken?” Isabella wasn’t accusatory like Chris and Otabek. Her question came with a softness and a squeeze to Victor’s hand. “Do you think he would have done any of this if he didn’t love you as well?”

Victor stopped breathing. Of all the thoughts in his head, he hadn’t quite paused to think about Yuuri’s reciprocal feelings. Moments flashed through him in a montage: stolen kisses, strong hugs, sleepy cuddles. All of those small moments stacking together, pushing the walls of Victor’s heart until it felt like it was going to explode in his chest. All of his decisions were made because he loved Yuuri. He wanted Yuuri to be safe, assumed Yuuri would be happier away from Victor, that he could succeed anywhere. But… if Yuuri loved him, even half as much as Victor loved Yuuri…

He lifted his wavering gaze to Isabella, feeling a new wave of guilt which had him seasick. He had broken Yuuri’s heart under his own false pretense of saving him. “What have I done?” The question echoed through the hallway.

“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” Isabella smiled. “There are a lot of people here. I bet no one would notice if the best man disappeared for a while.” She pulled Victor up, their height difference causing her to look up at him. “Go.”

He felt the tiny hands press into his abdomen. The moment of hesitation passed as he turned on his heel, sprinting toward the end of the hallway. Her good luck wishes chased him as he slipped through the door and into the night.

* * *

The last of the tables were finally set. The entire dining room had been transformed, including strips of fabric which now draped from the ceiling to the corners of the room. It had been fascinating to watch the lighting crew along with Isabella’s wedding planner as they slowly turned the dining room into a room fit for a princess. The pastel colors flowed into the soft whites, the accent lighting picking up each hue with surprising accuracy. It was certainly a vision, one that would make Isabella incredibly happy. Snapping a picture, Yuuri text it to his favorite bride, fulfilling the promise he had made hours before.

He opened the door for the last of the employees, locking it behind him before wandering to the office to find Phichit. While his friend wouldn’t complete all the books for the night, Mila had taught him the basics so that the cash and credit cards could be closed out properly. Nikiforov’s wouldn’t reopen to the public until dinnertime on Sunday, and Yuuri found himself an interesting mix of grateful and sad. When the restaurant had been busy, he didn’t have time to think about Victor. In the looming quiet, it was everything Yuuri could do to keep thoughts of him at bay. Sliding into the seat across from Phichit, he angled his hips to retrieve his dinging cell phone.

A video. Opening the text from Isabella, Yuuri curiously frowned at the clip, swallowing hard as Victor’s face appeared on screen. Isabella was seated with JJ to Victor’s left, causing Yuuri to wonder where the video had originated from. His contemplation disappeared instantly as Victor began to speak. Increasing the volume, Yuuri stared daggers into his phone, not paying attention to Phichit’s peaked interest across the desk.

_“Hi, everyone,” Victor waved to the crowd smiling as people chuckled, “first of all, thank you for coming tonight. It is always a pleasure to see so many happy faces, especially since we did not have to don our monkey suits for this gathering.” More laughter as Victor fiddled with his drink. “JJ and I met five years ago when my buddy Chris,” Victor waved a hand in Chris’s direction, rolling his eyes when Chris saluted the crowd, “dragged me to Canada for an ill-advised vacation. We stumbled upon a professional hockey game, and while we didn’t know much about the sport we decided to buy really nice seats and check it out. Little did we know that JJ was going to send a puck flying out of the rink, over the glass, and directly into my nose.” Pausing, Victor let the laughter die down again, exchanging grins with JJ as he waited. “He was kind enough to sign the literally bloody puck for me, but what I will always remember is the first thing he said to me. He came waltzing out of the locker room, hair soaking wet and shirtless, looked into my face and said ‘I’m glad I hit you, your face is too pretty for a dude’s anyway’.”_

The crowd roared with laughter, the sound slightly distorted through the speakers of Yuuri’s phone and Phichit snickered, shaking his head as he counted the cash on the desk. Yuuri sat quietly, chewing the inside of his cheek as the video progressed.

_“That’s JJ though. He always says the first thing that is on his mind, and he could care less if you don’t like it. It is probably my favorite thing about him. It makes him unique and the type of man you can always trust to tell you the truth.” Victor shifted to look at Isabella. “The first time he saw Isabella, she was at game, talking with another player during warm ups. JJ skated straight to the glass, pounding on it until we paid attention to him and shouted, ‘find out who that is, I am going to marry her!’ And he meant it too,” smiling Victor switched his drink to the other hand. “Whether he was talking about her beauty or her remarkable kindness or her loving spirit, JJ has spent every day since that first sighting, singing Isabella’s praises. It was a year before we really got to know her, but I believe we had all already fallen in love with her through JJ’s eyes.” Tears caught the edges of Victor’s eyelashes. “That kind of love, the kind that begins with a glance and grows until it improves every life it touches, is so rare. It is the kind of love that makes the world a better place, simply because it exists. It is the type of love you hold onto, cherishing it as a gift each and every day.” Droplets splashed from Victor’s eyes, but he remained composed. “Isabella, thank you for coming into JJ’s world, and the world of the rest of us hooligans, and making it a better place. I am thankful that you chose to love him, even after we chased you down the corridor of a hockey arena begging for your phone number.” More laughter echoed, mixed with the drying of a few tears. “So, I ask you to raise your glass. Let’s toast to the life, love, and laughter of JJ and Isabella. May all three of these l-words follow you as your begin your journey together and throughout all of your years. To JJ and Isabella!” Glasses clinked all around the room as the video cut off._

“Well…” Phichit began, waiting for Yuuri to make eye contact before continuing, “I have a feeling the bossman was not crying over his happiness for Bells and JJ.” Yuuri wiped the tears from his cheeks, wondering how there were any left to fall. “I’ve been a good friend and left you alone today, but it’s just us now. Ready to hear what I think?” Breathing hitching, Yuuri shook his head in the negative. “Too bad,” Phichit snapped the ledger closed, kicking the crowded safe closed with his foot. “You two are in love. You don’t need to say the words out loud, you don’t need to tell me yes or no, because I know that it’s true. Everyone in the restaurant knows it’s true. Hell, Yuuri, even your family knows and they have only seen Victor on Skype.” Phichit leaned back in the chair and for a brief second Yuuri considered warning him about how the chair had been used during his escapades with Victor. Deciding against it, Yuuri nodded at his best friend, staying silent. “Whatever prompted Victor’s grand standing about your safety is probably another convoluted way of him expressing that love. Like not telling you about the accident, or helping me mother you to death. You two need to talk.” Standing, Phichit moved through the office shutting off lights, returning to Yuuri’s side to pull him to his feet. Together they methodically checked locks and lights, closing down the restaurant to Mila’s specifications. Stepping into the dining room, Phichit let out a low whistle. “Damn this place looks amazing,” snapping his own picture, Phichit nudged Yuuri’s side with his elbow. “You know if you two could get your heads out of your asses, we could be planning your wedding here.”

Admitting that he had daydreams about marrying Victor in the middle of the home they had built was obviously a bad idea. Yuuri pushed Phichit in retaliation, lacking the strength and desire to do so with any real meaning behind it. Linking arms, they crossed through the dining room shutting off the remaining lights and walking out of the front doors. The sound of scuffling feet had them both twisting to identify the sound.

Pacing rapidly next to the passenger side of his own car was the one person that could make Yuuri’s heart skip several beats. Victor looked ravishing in his lightly tan linen suit, the turquoise shirt opened at his collar without a tie securing the neck. He ran his hands through his silver hair as he stormed in repetitive lines, lips moving as Victor talked to himself. Every part of Yuuri wanted to run to him, but his feet wouldn’t move.

“One last piece of advice,” Phichit was leaning into the side of the taxi, his intention to leave Yuuri behind becoming obvious, “get off the pedestal. Knock yourself off the one he has you on and help him down from his place on yours. You’ll be happier that way.” Yuuri watched as his best friend ducked into the back of the car, smiling dully when Phichit waved goodbye.

“Yuuri.”

The sound of his name, in the same way Victor had been saying it from the first day they met, had Yuuri yearning to close the distance between them. Striding across the parking lot, Yuuri collided with Victor, bodies slamming together as if they hadn’t seen each other in years.

The feeling hit him immediately. Surrounded by Yuuri’s arms, the scent of Yuuri’s hair tickling the inside of his nose, Victor felt a distinct emotion. _Home._ This set of arms, this messy hair, this pair of chocolate, honey-dipped brown eyes, this was home. Victor crumpled, clinging to Yuuri, circling him as far as his arms could go to crush Yuuri into his body.

He couldn’t breath and Yuuri couldn’t find a reason to care. He had never needed anyone’s touch. He hadn’t demanded physical reassurance from anyone in his life, including his own parents. But he needed Victor’s arms. He needed Victor’s breath on his neck and the tickle of Victor’s fringe on his cheek. He needed to feel the heft of Victor’s weight leaned onto his own smaller mass. Yuuri had never needed anything more than he needed to hug the man finally in his arms.

“Can I show you something?” Victor’s voice was morphed by his own tears, the wetness sliding against Yuuri’s neck as Victor clung to him. Nodding, because he didn’t trust his own voice, Yuuri let Victor pull him down a stone path around the side of the restaurant.

With as much as Yuuri adored Nikiforov’s, he had never paid much attention to the exterior of the restaurant. The outside walls were a deep red brick, extending on all four sides to form a fairly plain square structure. There was a covered patio on the back of the restaurant, which would need to be renovated to make it usable, but those plans were already in the works. To each side of the restaurant there were patches of dirt, which must have contained gardens at some point prior to Yuuri’s tenure as the head chef. Moving around the building, Yuuri was surprised to see a stone path, similar to the one that circled the side of Victor’s house to the backyard pool. This path did not lead to a pool, instead coming to a wider circle at the edge of the cliff overlooking the water. A beautiful pergola, covered in ivy and light pink flowers, came into view which was barely a few feet in front of a marble bench. Hands intertwined, squeezing until Yuuri had lost all feeling in his fingers, they made their way toward the stone garden. Stopping short, Yuuri registered the carvings under the plant-decorated arch.

Tugging on Yuuri’s hand, Victor guided him to a seat on the bench. Eyes closing briefly, Victor willed himself to calm down. “Yuuri,” he said, eyes still closed, face angled toward the gravestones, “these are my parents.”

The marble headstones gleamed in the moonlight, shining as if a layer of glitter had been added to the lacquer. Each was engraved with the name of one of Victor’s parents, joined together in the middle by connecting hearts and two crossed spatulas. It was so simple and unique, Yuuri found himself smiling in spite of the raging fear inside of him. Of course Victor would have added spatulas to his parents’ cravings, it seemed so ridiculous and so perfect all at the same time.

“I couldn’t bear the idea of them being away from this place,” Victor spoke toward the ground, “I couldn’t bury them at home, where they would overlook the water they died in. It only seemed fitting to keep them here.” Fingers shaking, Victor continued to focus downward. “When they first died, I would come to this edge and look over St. Petersburg, wondering how I could survive without them. The only real love I had ever known was the love my parents gave me unconditionally.”

“Everyone in the restaurant loves you, I could feel it the first time I set foot in the place.” Yuuri kept his gaze aimed at the water, analyzing the flickering of the moonlight on the small ripples.

“I didn’t see it,” Victor said, eyebrows knitting together, “that is, I didn’t see it until you came along.” Finally, he steeled himself, shifting on the cool stone to face Yuuri. “My world was so dark. I had begun losing hope before my parents died and then their death stole the remaining threads of it. I felt alone and lost.” Victor pulled Yuuri to face him. “Then you came along and all of that changed.”

His strength failed him and Yuuri kept his head bowed, concentrating on their intertwined fingers. “But you don’t want me anymore.” His throat closed around the statement, the sting returning to his eyes as Yuuri fought back tears.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Victor raised Yuuri’s hand to kiss it, “I want you to be happy. You’re perfect, Yuuri, and you deserve more than a broken man who lives in a constant state of chaotic drama.”

Pulling his hand from Victor’s, Yuuri shifted to retrieve his phone. Without explanation, he unlocked it, thumbing through his video gallery. It had been a long time since he had watched the video, keeping it only as a reminder of how far he had come. “Perfect, right?” Yuuri placed the phone in Victor’s lap. “I am only perfect because you believe it to be so. I am different because I am with you. From the moment we met, you begun to change me, highlighting the best parts of me instead of the worst. Your opinion of me is skewed and biased.” Tapping the screen, Yuuri began the video that would change all of that. He cringed, knowing what was coming, but also knowing the only way to get off a pedestal was to kick it out from underneath himself.

On the screen, Victor watched as Yuuri raged through an unfamiliar kitchen, plates flying from his hands to shatter against tiled walls. Unlike the night they had found each other on the back porch of Nikiforov’s, Yuuri wasn’t privately fuming; he was outwardly taking every ounce of his emotions out on the employees. The shouts and curse words were uncharacteristic of the Yuuri who Victor had grown to love, and his mouth gaped open as he watched Yuuri repeatedly make his staff members cry over the course of two minutes. Crashes noises accented every shout, making Victor jump with each sharp noise. Peering up at Yuuri, Victor couldn’t find the words to ask all of his questions.

“In Barcelona,” Yuuri removed his phone from Victor’s hands to replace it in his pocket, “not pretty.” Shaking his head, Yuuri didn’t resist the urge to stroke Victor’s cheek. “My anxiety was at its peak. I refused help, even when Phichit tried to force it on me. That’s who shot the video. Phichit recorded me so that I could finally see what it looked like when I exploded. I made every member of a fifteen person kitchen staff cry that night, including Phichit.” Yuuri watched the change in Victor’s observations of him, thankful when Victor didn’t pull away from his touch. “We left Barcelona to come to St. Petersburg because I got fired. Phichit came with me because he is amazingly loyal and wanted to make sure I got help. He played this video for me every day until I conceded.”

“You Gordon Ramsayed them.” Victor was wide-eyed, unflinching at Yuuri’s touches, but not leaning into them either.

“I believe Gordon Ramsay would be offended by that.” Yuuri felt relief wash through him as Victor finally tutted out a small bit of laughter. “I did get help, but it doesn’t go away. That night on the porch, Phichit had thrown me out. I had woken up feeling off that morning, and he was determined to keep me from blowing this job. It was too easy to focus on why you were on the porch, never forcing myself to give you the courtesy of my own honesty.” Victor’s shocked face softened. Pushing on Yuuri said, “Sometimes, it is easier for me to pretend that there isn’t a problem than to actually deal with it. When Detective Pronin told me to keep my meeting with Celestino a secret, I listened to him because it made my life easier. You couldn’t stop me if you didn’t know what was going on. Just like you could pretend that the accident was behind us if you never talked to me about it.”

The truth landed in Victor’s stomach. What he had seen on the video, his precious Yuuri acting like a madman, and the realization that Yuuri knew he had kept secrets about the accident, combined together in a sickening ball. Dropping his forehead into his free palm, Victor tried to keep his brain from rattling around. “I…” Yuuri was being honest with him, and it was time Victor returned the favor. “I didn’t want the accident to be real. After my parents died, I spent every moment thinking about their accident. I was obsessed with proving that something sinister had happened. I didn’t want the obsession to take over again.” Victor ran his hand through his hair, finally meeting Yuuri head on. “Instead I obsessed over keeping you safe. It started with taking care of you, and then I was keeping things from you, and then I was convincing myself that I couldn’t keep you safe as long as you were with me.” Victor grabbed both of Yuuri’s hands. “I don’t care that you made a bunch of people cry in Barcelona. I don’t care if you were a raging lunatic. I don’t need you to be perfect to…” say the words, Victor screamed to himself, once again losing his nerve. “I don’t need you to be perfect to want to be with you.”

“I don’t need you to be perfect either. And I don’t need you to protect me. I’m not weak.” Yuuri scouted closer, cupping Victor’s face with his hands. “And you’re not weak either.” He let his forehead fall, landing against Victor’s with a small thud.

“What if we protect each other?” Victor sounded timid, “not by lying to each other or not telling each other things, but by being there for each other? That’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Yuuri sighed, pulling back, “Victor, I…” he braced himself ready to ask about their future when Victor’s phone started ringing.

Groaning, Victor looked at the caller id, “it is JJ’s mom. She probably wants me back. She has been obsessing about everyone getting a good night’s rest.”

Smiling, Yuuri stood and pulling Victor up. His acceptance of Victor’s leaving was only an excuse to put off further conversation. Learning to communicate came with a learning curve, and Yuuri decided they had started strong. Forgiving himself, Yuuri vowed that someday, he would find himself braver. “Let’s get you home, before you turn into a pumpkin.”

Lacing his fingers back through Yuuri’s Victor laughed, “did you just call me a princess?” Yuuri laughed shaking his head and kissing the back of Victor’s hand.

Together they climbed into Victor’s car, finding each other’s hands across the center console. Yuuri felt the return of the nerves he had felt the first time Victor had given him a ride home. They remained silent for the drive, shy smiles passing between them every few minutes. No explicit decisions had been made, but it seemed that they were finally making their way back to each other.

Stopping the car in front of Yuuri’s apartment, Victor squeezed Yuuri’s hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” Blue eyes clung to brown, anxiously waiting for confirmation.

Reaching over the center console, Yuuri kissed Victor on the forehead. “I will see you tomorrow. I can’t wait to see you don your monkey suit.” Winking at Victor, Yuuri slipped from the car.

“I love you,” Victor whispered as the door to the apartment building banged shut behind Yuuri’s fleeting back. It wasn’t until he was lying on the guest bed in JJ’s house that he realized Yuuri had been quoting Victor’s best man speech.

* * *

 

The church was stifling hot despite the fans circulating the air from the end of every other pew. Yuuri yanked on the neck of his dress shirt, glad that he had decided to forego his sling for the time being, as he slid onto the hard wood seat next to Phichit. It would be a day of quick changes, already converting once from their chef’s attire to their formal suits and expecting at least two other changes before the end of it. It was worth it though to see Isabella walk down the aisle.

They had talked for an hour while she had her hair wrapped into an intricate design that morning, face-to-face in an unexpected hang out session. Her nerves sang in the high-pitched tilt of her voice when she had reached out to him before sunrise and Yuuri had responded in kind, by showing up at the hotel bridal suite with breakfast and coffee for everyone. He had been smothered with affection from all the bridesmaids, face blazing when he finally met Isabella’s mother. The older woman was every bit as gorgeous and loving as his friend, and Yuuri felt himself relaxing as he was grouped hugged by all of the Yang women. Isabella’s sister had never said more than two words to him, but apparently the mimosas were making everyone overly friendly that morning. He had enjoyed his brief time in the bridal suite, surrounded by the early celebrations which promised a day filled with love and laughter.

Music began to filter into the room, which danced with the colors streaming in through the stained glass windows. Everything about Isabella and JJ’s day seemed to be bathed in rainbows, and Yuuri found that he loved every second of it. He was so incredibly happy for Isabella, turning to face the church doors as the wedding party began their march down the aisle. Yuuri smiled at Otabek’s flat expression, loving that somehow he seemed both excited and nonchalant. Following Otabek’s path with Mila down the aisle, Yuuri felt his heart jump up into his throat.

How he hadn’t noticed Victor standing at the front of the church was beyond Yuuri. JJ stood in the center, nervously wringing his hands and leaning toward Victor to whisper into his best man’s ear. Victor smiled, patting JJ on the back responding with something that made the nervous groom laugh. Yuuri’s mouth was Sahara desert dry. JJ was unmistakably handsome in his light gray suit, a white dress shirt and tie creating an interesting color palette that Yuuri didn’t completely hate. It was Victor, though, who had all of Yuuri’s attention.

The perfectly tailored gray suit outlined Victor’s astonishing figure. It was a shade darker than JJ’s and unlike JJ’s all white color scheme and Otabek’s pastel purple, Victor was adorned with a blue tie that was almost an exact match to the color of his ice blue eyes. The flower on his lapel was white, with a ribbon that matched his perfectly colored tie. He stood with his hands folded in front of him, hair hanging flawlessly over his left eye. Victor was stunning and Yuuri felt his entire body turning into liquefied arousal. Licking his lips, Yuuri caught Victor’s eye almost dying on the spot when Victor winked at him.

The change in music caused him to return his attention to the heavy church doors and probably saved Yuuri’s life in the process. At the familiar sound of Canon in D, Yuuri felt his face break with an impossibly wide smile. Isabella emerged, small hand tucked in the crock of her father’s elbow, a breath-taking sight in off-the-shoulder lace and a long matching veil. Flowers cascaded over her left arm, her bouquet being cradled instead of carried by a single hand. She blew a kiss at Yuuri as she passed him, making him chuckle and wink in her direction. He had never felt so giddy for another person. Sitting at the edge of his seat, he spent the entire ceremony holding back tears as he watched Isabella take the vows to cement her very own happily ever after.

* * *

Yuuri slipped the last of the dishes into the sink, patting his dishwashers on the back and slipping a hundred dollars in cash into each of the younger men’s pockets. Phichit had escaped to the party almost an hour ago, and Yuuri was preparing to do the same now that he had once again slipped from chef’s coat to suit jacket. His dishwashers would be the last people to leave the kitchen that night, and he wanted to make sure they knew how much he appreciated their work.

The beginning of the reception had gone off without a hitch, each appetizer had been consumed with rapid pace and the last of them being devoured moments before the bridal party had finally arrived at the restaurant. Their introductions were filmed, each of them unique, including Victor’s flip of Isabella’s sister over his back and Chris’s worm across the dance floor. Yuuri had snuck from the kitchen to watch the spectacle, eyes finally locking with Victor’s during the official first dance of JJ and Isabella. Although JJ wasn’t as smooth as Yuuri had been during his time as a fill-in, their love was undeniable and most of the guests were left with sentimental tears as the song reached its final notes. It had nearly killed Yuuri to break away from the festivities, but his job wasn’t finished and he wanted everything to be perfect.

Dinner had been chaotic. Each guest had been required to complete a card requesting their plate, but multiple guests changed their minds, developing food envy of the other meals at their table. Nineteen extra plates had to be crafted and rushed to tables, leaving Yuuri and Phichit winded and wild-eyed. The adrenaline pumping through their veins carried them through until it was time to cut the cake. After the couple was lined up to the photographer’s specifications, Yuuri stepped forward, presenting JJ with the personalized groom’s cake that Isabella had created from scratch. Aniya had provided the decorating lesson and JJ squealed when he saw the double J’s joined by a single heart. It wasn’t a manly sound, but Yuuri couldn’t help his grin as JJ gushed his appreciation into Isabella’s cheek. Glancing into the crowd, he found Victor, almost dumping the entire surprise cake onto the ground at the intense stare being aimed his way. Yuuri felt the effects of that look long after he had retreated to the kitchen to orchestrate the cleanup of over a hundred dishes.

Now all of the formalities were out of the way and Yuuri’s duties for the night were over. The guest bartenders were wielding drinks with impressive force, switching over to plastic cups at Yuuri’s own cue. It had been widely discussed that the party could go on until the bar was dry of alcohol and Yuuri did not want his dishwashers to remain stuck beyond a reasonable hour. Stating his appreciation again, Yuuri reacted when he heard his name shouted. Bursting into the kitchen was a red-faced Isabella, her giggly demands for him to come dance with her impossible to turn down. Letting her pull him from the kitchen, Yuuri moved through the blurred crowd onto the middle of the dance floor. Taking command, he scooped Isabella into his arms, twirling her with skill as other party goers shifted to give them room.

On the side of the dance floor, Victor felt his grip on his drink go limp. Catching it to avoid the spill on the temporarily erected wooden panels, Chris raised an eyebrow at Yurio nodding back toward Victor. “I bet you ten dollars they make out on the dance floor.” Chris stuck out his hand, wiggling his eyebrows at Yurio.

“Hm,” Yurio waved a hand in front of Victor’s dazed face, glancing over his shoulder at Yuuri’s ecstatic smile. “You are underestimating them. I’ll bet you fifty bucks they make some ridiculous declaration to each other, then make out, and then go do the deed in Victor’s office.” Yurio smirked, throwing a cocky hand toward Chris who couldn’t see Otabek and JJ conspiring over the DJ table.

“You’re on, squirt,” Chris clapped Yurio’s hand in his own. Both of them stood back to watch as Victor dreamily moved onto the dance floor.

The rhythm of the music slowed from the up tempo dance beat. Yuuri beamed as Isabella kissed him on the cheek. Feeling a tap on his shoulder, he turned to see JJ reaching around to reclaim his bride. Exchanging quick hugs with both of them, Yuuri stepped back preparing to leave the dance floor when a hand caught him at the elbow. Whirling around, Yuuri found himself pressed against Victor’s chest, a firm hand at the small of his back holding him in place. Victor took a firm hold on his other hand, stepping into a leading role. Yuuri felt the butterflies burst forth in his stomach, his breath knocked completely from his chest as Victor guided him over the dance floor.

Lyrics filtered into Victor’s mind, fitting exactly into his own thoughts. He didn’t need someone with superhuman gifts, he didn’t need a superhero or fairy tale bliss. In exact time with the song, Victor sang softly into Yuuri’s ear, “I want something just like this.”

It was so cheesy. It was so silly romantic to be dancing together, Victor whispering lyrics into his ear, permanently claiming the song as theirs. It was so Victor that Yuuri couldn’t help purposely slowing their dance to wrap himself tighter into Victor’s loving hold. Breathless, he searched for words to express the overwhelming feelings that were working their way through them. Grabbing Victor by the back of his neck, Yuuri tipped himself up on his toes, pressing their foreheads together. Throwing away his hesitation, he looked at Victor’s beautiful blue eyes mere centimeters from his own and let the words finally tumble from him. “I love you, Victor Nikiforov.”

Victor threw himself into Yuuri’s arms, forgetting that they were supposed to be dancing. He forgot that there were a hundred people standing around them. Victor forgot that this wasn’t supposed to be a day about his love. He let the world fall away as he absorbed Yuuri’s words. “I have waited for you my whole life. I love you, I love you, I love you, Yuuri Katsuki.” Victor was an absurd mixture of laughter and tears as his lips crashed against Yuuri’s and the entire restaurant full of people erupted into cheers. Arms tangled together, they laughed into each other’s shoulders as their friends poured into their space, joining in on the hug in the middle of the dance floor.

Chris yelled over the top of Victor’s head to Yurio, “two out of three, you lose, kiddo!”

Yurio shook his head, tilting an eyebrow toward Victor and Yuuri who were staring directly at each other in the middle of the outlandish hugging pile of people. “Wait for it.” Yurio held up a fist, flicking up one finger each second. As the fourth finger flicked up, Yuuri and Victor ducked from the center of the pile, racing toward the office with their hands flying all over each other. Groaning, Chris slapped fifty dollars into Yurio’s palm, following his friends so he could play bodyguard at the entrance of the hallway.

Yanking open the door to his office, Victor backed Yuuri into the space, kissing him until they were both dizzy with the contact. Yuuri was hastily pushing off Victor’s jacket, when Victor wrapped his long fingers around Yuuri’s flexing wrists. “Wait, I want to ask you something first.” Victor redirected Yuuri’s hands around his waist, cupping Yuuri’s face with his own shaking hands. “Yuuri Katsuki, will you be my chef?” Yuuri giggled and Victor’s nose crinkled with the beauty of the sound. “I mean it! Will you stay here? Will you be my chef?” Laughing, Yuuri crashed into Victor’s lips again, kissing his yes straight into Victor’s mouth. He pouted when Victor pulled him back again. “I have conditions though.”

Willing to play along, Yuuri playfully tossed his arms over Victor’s shoulders, cocking his head to the side. “Oh yeah? How many conditions?” He was so elated he could barely standstill, bouncing on his toes and shaking them both back and forth.

“Three conditions,” Victor’s lips twitched with humor, “three conditions started all of this, I figure it is the best way to…”

“End it?” Yuuri squealed as Victor attacked his sides to tickle him. “Alright! Alright! Bad joke!” Yuuri wheezed with laughter, settling himself as he watched Victor chew redness into his own bottom lip. “So, tell me then, Mr. Nikiforov, what are your conditions?” Yuuri kissed Victor’s nose because he couldn’t resist the adorable pink hue of it.

“First, you and Phichit take partial ownership in the restaurant. Mila will take a part as well. Nikiforov’s will be ours, for real.” Victor flourished at Yuuri’s enthusiastic nod, accepting the loud smack of a kiss before revealing the rest of his list. “Second, I want you to come live with me. Phichit is welcome to move in too, but I want to live with you, Yuuri. I want to be with you every night when the sun sets and wake up tangled in you every morning. Be with me, live with me, work with me, do this thing, all in, with me.”

The second kiss was sweet, the love pouring out of each other them to overflow into the other. They stayed linked until they had to breath, resting once again with their chests pressed together, foreheads grazing as Yuuri searched for the final request. “I accept your second condition,” Yuuri smiled as Victor kissed him, loving the feeling of Victor’s hands holding him possessively in place as their lips laid their own claims. Sliding onto the desk, Yuuri linked his legs around Victor’s waist, stretching to run his open mouth over Victor’s neck just below his ear. Drawing closer to Victor’s ear, Yuuri carefully asked, “And what’s the last condition, Victor?”

Bracing his hands on either side of Yuuri’s hips on the desk, Victor considered him with a serious facial expression. When Yuuri looked sufficiently worried, Victor stated, in a very serious tone, “I want a dog.”

Yuuri chortled, smiling lopsidedly at Victor from his perch on the desk. “A dog huh?” Yuuri linked his arms around Victor’s waist pulling him intimately close.

Brushing Yuuri’s hair from his forehead, Victor tilted his head. “Yes, a dog, like the one in your Instagram posts.” He smiled down at Yuuri’s shocked face.

“You want a poodle?” Yuuri could hardly believe his ears, his grip slightly slipping from Victor’s waist as he began to fully accept the possibility.

Victor set to work stripping Yuuri of his tie, throwing it behind his back in a dramatic flourish. “Yes! He will be our first baby and he can be the restaurant mascot!” Victor pulled Yuuri’s jacket from his shoulders, also throwing it onto the floor of the office.

Keeping his voice playful, Yuuri ran his fingers over Victor’s thigh and over the growing protrusion at the front of his pants. Linking his fingers into Victor’s belt, Yuuri yanked it free with one swift pull. “Can we bring him to work?” Yuuri asked, fingers moving swiftly to remove Victor’s tie.

Victor flicked Yuuri’s shoes off, skilled fingers tracing the muscles in Yuuri’s legs as he hands ran the course of them, setting to work on removing Yuuri’s belt. “Of course! He can hang out in the office and you can make him special meals!” Stepping back, Victor yanked Yuuri’s pants from his legs, smiling turning from playful to sensual as he took in the sight of Yuuri balanced on the edge of the desk in only his underwear and socks. “Do we have a deal?” Victor let his own pants fall to the floor, along with his undergarments. His heart raced as Yuuri nodded with eyes wandering over his naked body.

“We have a deal,” Yuuri stood from the desk, slinking toward Victor, “I’ll be your chef, if you’ll be my forever.” Victor’s breathe hitched making Yuuri pause.

 “Forever,” Victor held a hand over his heart, sparkling tears catching at the rims of his eyes, “I love the sound of that.”

Yuuri felt every part of him smile as he threw himself into Victor’s arms. “It’s decided then,” Yuuri tipped up, returning to his assault on the sensitive part of Victor’s neck. “Now let’s help Yurio win another bet.” Victor yelped his question into the air, forgetting his need for an answer as they fell into each other, rolling onto the carpet, together and happy.

* * *

 

All of the guests were gone. JJ and Isabella had been sent off in a sea of bubbles and sparklers, waved into the waiting car with loving wishes. All of the tables were stripped of their rented linens and the rest of the magical décor had been removed from the walls. Nikiforov’s had returned to its former glory and Victor felt a wonderful sense of comfort in seeing his restaurant in its normal form. Knowing it would no longer be solely his caused him to smile.

Sitting at a singular table, Victor surveyed each of the members of his family. Mila laughed, arm slung over Sara’s shoulders as they shared in some private joke. Yurio and Otabek were reviewing music, sharing a set of earphones, heads bobbing in time together as Yurio made furious notes on a napkin. Aniya’s head was tucked onto Georgi’s shoulder, dozing off with a small smile on her face as Georgi rubbed her back. Phichit was playing quarters with Chris, both of them questionable in sobriety and laughing uproariously every time one of them missed. Minami was asleep with his head cradled into his elbow on the table, drool running down his chin. Tucked under his own arm, was the love of his life. Yuuri smiled up at him, happily accepting Victor’s kiss and then settling into Victor’s side.

Raising his eyes to the ceiling, Victor silently thanked his parents. Without the years of their hard work and struggle, Nikiforov’s would have never existed. Without their belief in Victor, he would have never known what he was capable of. Without their trust that Victor could handle their legacy, he would have never found his family. His last thank you brought the return of his tears, although these tears shone with happiness.

He thanked his parents for sending him Yuuri. It wasn’t that Victor was a religious man per say, but Yuuri’s arrival in the foyer of Nikiforov’s had to be a gift from someone and Victor was happy to give the credit to the divine force of his parents’ love for him.

Victor had waited his entire life to find a love like his parents had. He looked at his hodge-podge family, who had loved him even when he couldn’t love himself and stood by him even when he didn’t deserve their faith. He squeezed the shoulders of the beautiful man resting against his side, who loved him not in spite of his flaws but because of them and accepted his crazy mess without flinching. This was love. This was the love that Victor had been waiting for. It came to him when his world was collapsing, when he no longer had a reason to believe in anything good. But it came anyway.

He had wasted enough of his life neglecting his desire to love and be loved, and he vowed to spend the rest of it not wasting another minute. Starting with letting each of the people around him know how much he cared about them and then hopefully convincing his chef to one day become his husband. Pressing a kiss into Yuuri’s hair, Victor leaned back into his chair, sighing with content.

Life, love, and laughter were once again alive in Nikiforov’s.


	14. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No, you're crying!
> 
> This is it. This is the official end of BMCY. To all my readers, I love the mess out of you. If I could cook each one of you a meal, I would do so in a heart beat. Thank you for all the comments and the love and for just being here with me through this process. This wouldn't have gotten to this point without your encouragement, and I am sending you each a warm hug and a Yurio to serve you wine (that kid knows his stuff ha ha). 
> 
> As promised, the sex scenes are up and available for your reading enjoyment. This is my first time writing anything like these, so good luck ha ha. Let me know what you think! [The Sex Scenes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11021562)
> 
> If anyone has any headcannons or scenes that they would like to see written out for this AU, please do not be afraid to ask! I would happily right anything in this little world I created. Come holler at me on Tumblr too: [n3rdlif343va](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/n3rdlif343va)
> 
> My next AU - The Law Firm of Katsuki, Nikiforov & Chulanont will post its first chapter next weekend! (It is not projected to be as long as this one and that one IS explicit).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're flashing forward. I cried a bit while writing this, because I am a giant ball of sap.

**Year One – August**

The front door lock clicks. Victor extends a hand in the final wave to the lawyers as they get into their overpriced cars, armed with generous amounts of food because Yuuri and Phichit cooked far too much for a four person celebration lunch. Smiling at his feet, Victor hurries through the foyer, returning to the middle of the restaurant and his three new partners. Accepting the glass that is offered to him, Victor clinks his shot glass against Mila’s, Phichit’s and Yuuri’s, grinning as he dumps the burning liquid down his throat. Bouncing with the sheer power of joy, Victor collides with Yuuri, tasting the alcohol in his boyfriend’s mouth as they share a celebratory kiss. Beside them, Mila and Phichit are hugging, making dramatic kissing noises and cracking each other up. Finally unleashing Yuuri, Victor throws his arms wide, gathering them together in one buzzing happy group hug.

Nikiforov’s is no longer a sign of Victor’s solo struggle to succeed. It is a team effort now, and Victor couldn’t have asked for better teammates.

* * *

 

**Year One – October**

“Calm down!” Yuuri cuddles Victor into his side as they make their final approach to the onsen, “my parents are going to adore you. Trust me, it will be overwhelming praise and worship from here on out.” Kissing Victor’s cheek, Yuuri laughs when Victor spins him around to crush them together in a hug.

“Good, I could use some praise and worship,” Victor laughs into the corner of Yuuri’s mouth, “I get none of that in St. Petersburg.” He laughs harder as Yuuri bites his lip, pulling back and then going in for the kiss.

The onsen doors open to reveal three figures. The shortest is smiling, tears squeaking from her happily pinched eyes as she claps in time with her welcome. Next to her is the only man, leaning against the door frame with his arm’s crossed, sheepish smile prepared with a joke for the moment they are noticed. The last, hard eyes and pursed lips, is trying hard not to show her elation at the scene in front of her.

Breaking from their kiss, Yuuri and Victor slowly turn to face Yuuri’s family. Blush overcoming his cheeks, Yuuri gives a small wave. “Hi,” he glances between the four people, “Mom, Dad, Mari, this is Victor.” He doesn’t need to add that Victor is his boyfriend, he has only told them a thousand times over Skype and that should really be efficient enough.

Awkwardly waving, Victor places his suitcase on the ground. “Hi, Yuuri’s family! I love your son!” Victor’s face is split into a painfully awkward smile, almost begging them not to chastise him for making out with Yuuri in the middle of the courtyard.

Four bodies move at once. Yuuri’s parents and sister dived at Victor, enveloping him in a group hug, even with Mari’s obviously questionable participation. Yuuri dove onto the ground, anticipating the potential tackling and getting the hell out of the way. From his place on the stone, he looks up to see Victor’s happy face leaking tears, arms full of Katsuki family. Yuuri is positive that he has never been so happy in his entire life.

Later, when they are alone preparing for bed in Yuuri’s old room (after his mom’s embarrassing remainder that they are far away from guests and shouldn’t hold themselves back from each other), Yuuri spies a quiet smile peeking from the edges of Victor’s lips. Reaching out to guide Victor into his arms, Yuuri tips up to kiss his chin. “What’s the smile for?”

“I love it here,” Victor sighs, hugging Yuuri close, and pressing their foreheads together. “Your family is wonderful. I want ten thousand hugs from your mother every day.”

Brushing the hair from Victor’s forehead, Yuuri kissed the now bare spot. “They love you. And mom will hug you continuously if you let her. I told you she would want to adopt you.”

Getting into bed, Victor reached up to kiss Yuuri. “I can’t wait to see the rest of the town tomorrow. And meet everyone else you told me about!”

Laughing, Yuuri pulled Victor back into a kiss. He couldn’t wait to show Victor where he grew up… and maybe, just maybe, his evil side couldn’t wait to see the triplets drill him with hundreds of questions. Letting his thoughts fall away, Yuuri worked open the robes that his mother had monogrammed for Victor, smiling at the sparkling blue thread on the green robe as he tossed it on to the floor.

* * *

 

**One Year – November**

“Who the hell knew we had so much stuff?” Phichit stood with an exasperated look on the edge of the moving truck. They had been moving all day in the bone-chilling Russian winter and every one of them looked like a stressed out dragon puffing their frustration into the dimming skyline.

“Let’s just get it to the house and then we can unload the last load tomorrow morning,” Yuuri grumpily pulled his scarf back around his face, “I’m hungry and tired and ready to burn all our crap to the ground.” He pouted when Victor tugged the scarf away from his mouth, relenting when Victor offered him a kiss.

Squishing together in the moving van, Yuuri and Phichit took one last selfie to record their final drive away from the apartment. Phichit had decided to move in with them, when Mila had announced she was moving out and buying a house with Sara. The day they had told Mickey about their relationship had been one of the funniest, loving, and most tear-filled days Yuuri had ever witnessed. Smiling at the memory, Yuuri sat back against the seat, sneaking a peak in the side view mirror at Victor’s car following them with JJ, Isabella, and Chris while Yurio rode on the back of Otabek’s motorcycle. How anyone could ride a motorcycle in the middle of winter, in Russia, was completely beyond Yuuri, but he had long ago realized that Otabek and Yurio were much tougher than he would ever be. Closing his eyes, he sighed again, relishing in the feeling of finally going home.

* * *

 

**Year One – December**

Victor’s eyes fluttered opened, peering up at his ceiling. Yuuri had already left the bed, a fact that had Victor curious since normally Yuuri only got up after a series of tantrums. He was not curious enough to peel himself away from the warmth, instead snuggling down into the pillow that now permanently smelled like his boyfriend. It was the most wonderful smell in the world, one that had Victor smiling into the fluffy down.

Soft snow had covered their small piece of the world, giving them the excuse to close the restaurant for a few days. Even being off, it had been non-stop cooking and baking for Yuuri and Phichit who had prepared an insanely large feast for everyone arriving promptly at four p.m. for Christmas dinner. Victor hadn’t properly celebrated a Christmas since his parents died, and even then it was a subdued event mostly thrown as a thank you party for the restaurant’s biggest supporters. Last year’s Christmas had been comprised of Victor locating the bottom of a vodka bottle, grumpily hiding in the restaurant office to avoid the party Mila had insisted on throwing. This year, however, was going to be different.

Feeling the excited nerves zing over his skin, Victor kicked from the bed, pulling a sweatshirt over his head and sliding into his slippers. Stepping through the door of his room, he immediately caught the smell of bacon and French toast. He always made pancakes and sausage, just like his father, never able to master bacon or French toast in the way his mother could. It was the smell of his traditional birthday breakfast wafting up the stairs that had his interest peaked and his stomach rumbling, so he found himself jogging toward the stairs.

The view of his kitchen table had him skidding to a halt. Balloons were tied to his chair, a bright red plate positioned in his place, with what appeared to be a cardboard crown resting on top of it. Dazed, Victor walked toward the place setting, noting the stack of crumpled cards tied with a blue bow. When arms circled his waist, Victor turned to stare at Yuuri.

“When we were moving storage containers around, I found a box labeled Victor Birthday,” Yuuri spoke quickly, eyes searching Victor’s in rapid anxiety, “there were pictures of you as a little kid. They looked just like this,” Yuuri waved a hand over the table. With one arm still wrapped tightly around Victor, Yuuri stretched his free arm out for the bundle of cards. Gingerly placing it in Victor’s hands, Yuuri looked up to study his face. “Your parents saved every birthday card they ever gave you. I couldn’t figure out how to save the envelopes, but all the cards are laminated. The print shop said it will help preserve the ink.” Yuuri jumped when a tear fell onto his face that wasn’t his. “Oh, I’m sorry, Vitya,” Yuuri wiped a finger over his love’s cheek, using the newly determined nickname for his favorite human. “I thought you would like it.”

Squishing the stacks of envelopes between them, Victor hugged Yuuri as if trying to meld their bodies into one. Yuuri never had long speeches or flowing poetry which expressed his love. Instead, Yuuri’s love sang through everything he did, the intensely thoughtful moments that made Victor’s heart feel like it was going to burst. “It’s perfect, Yuuri, so, so perfect,” Victor let the tears fall freely, feeling so loved that he could burst from the overwhelming force of it. “Nothing could make it better.”

Yuuri peered over Victor’s shoulder, waving a hand to Phichit to come into the room. “Nothing, huh?” Victor jumped against him as the sound of scurrying feet erupted from the other side of the kitchen. “Are you sure about that?” Yuuri watched as the love of his life was tackled by a wiggling mass of brown poodle puppy, unsure who was more overjoyed at the meeting. “You have to name her, Vitya. We can’t keep calling her baby.” Yuuri winked at Phichit who hopped up on the counter to steal a piece of bacon from the waiting plate.

“Yeah, and she sleeps with you guys now. Hiding her in my room for two days has taken years off my poor fluffbutt’s lives.” Phichit peered down fondly, tossing a piece of bacon on the ground and laughing when the puppy pounced on it.

Rolling on the ground, Victor cooed and laughed as the puppy returned to cover his face with kisses. “Makkachin,” he whispered into the brown poof of a belly, “I’m going to call you Makkachin.”

* * *

 

**Year Two – Day One**

Yuuri was pissed. Slamming the door to the cab shut, he tossed money at the driver, only thinking to apologize for his rudeness after the man drove away leaving a dusting of Russian curses in his wake. It was ridiculous that after months of commuting together, both Phichit and Victor had managed to leave him behind at the house. Phichit had taken one car, Victor the other and Yuuri been left gawking at the empty driveway. Neither of them had bothered to answer their phones, and Yuuri had taken turns leaving screaming voicemails in both inboxes. He was late now, sweating from being in the overly warm cab, and nursing a powerful headache. Determined to focus his frustration on his boyfriend and his best friend, Yuuri stormed into the restaurant ready for a fight.

And was immediately struck dumb with the sight of hundreds of rainbow roses decorating every surface, highlighted by the twinkling of thousands of tiny white lights. Staring, confused and alarmed convinced that he had missed an event, Yuuri blinked several times when Minami approached him, handing him a single yellow rose. “Yuuri” read the tag attached. Minami high fived him and then walked over to the bar.

He missed Otabek’s existence until he was directly in front of Yuuri’s face. Silently, Otabek handed him a dyed-green rose. “Will” was stamped on this tag. Otabek nodded, patting Yuuri on the shoulder and moved to join Minami.

Mila popped up from the hostess stand, startling Yuuri and making him laugh nervously. She laid a single pink rose in his hands, grabbing his face to kiss his cheek. The tag read, “you” and Yuuri’s brow furrowed deeper with confusion.

A red rose was added to his stack, Chris winking at him and ruffling Yuuri’s hair before moving to stand with the others. Confusion growing stronger, Yuuri stared at the single word. “Me?”

“Hey,” Yurio stood in front of him, passing a white rose back and forth between his hands. “This shit is stupid,” Yurio kicked his foot against the ground, finally making eye contact. “But I guess I’m happy for you guys.” Yuuri squeaked in shock when Yurio hugged him. “Don’t break up again, okay? Some idiot adults have to be good.” Little tears pricked at the side of Yurio’s eyes, as he added the last rose to Yuuri’s arms. The word on this tag had Yuuri’s heart jumping into his throat.

“Marry.”

Music filled the room as Phichit excitedly skipped toward him, throwing rose petals while flashing a sign that put it all together. “Yuuri, will you marry me?” Before Phichit could even release him from the bone-crushing hug, Yuuri spotted Victor, dressed in a full suit, carrying a bouquet of deep red roses. “I’ll take these,” Phichit giggled, collecting Yuuri’s roses and the bouquet from Victor’s arms, whistling as he danced away to gather with the others. Yuuri’s heart beat slammed against his ears, blood flushing to his cheeks as Victor dropped to one knee in front of him.

“Yuuri Katsuki, one year ago, you walked into this restaurant and changed my life,” tears ran down Victor’s cheeks and Yuuri hurriedly wiped them away with his thumbs. “I asked you to be my chef, you asked me to be your forever. So today, I am here, asking you to be _my_ forever. Be my everything, Yuuri, as you always have been, since the first moment that you stepped into this place. Yuuri Katsuki, will you marry me?”

Yuuri tackled Victor flat on his back, kissing him in mid fall. As they landed in a heap on the ground, Victor’s head carefully cradled in Yuuri’s hand, cheers erupted all around them, every member of the Nikiforov staff joining in the celebration.

“So,” Victor kissed back as Yuuri attacked his lips, “is that a yes?”

“That’s definitely a yes, just…” Yuuri said, “don’t check your voicemail.” Laughter filled their kiss as they continued to lay tangled in the foyer of the restaurant, in the exact spot where they had first met.

* * *

 

**Year Two – September**

The jail visitor’s room smelled of stale cigarettes and disinfectant. Every wall was a dull gray, making the jumpsuits of bright orange seem weirdly out of place. There wasn’t a happy face in the entire room, and Victor felt the grief and terror soaking into his skin in equal measures. Searching for reassurance, he found Yuuri’s hand squeezing it tightly as they waited.

The trial had taken six days. Together, they had faced each day, listening to the prosecutor’s evidence with numb ears. On the day that they had testified, they had returned to their hotel room, falling into bed together to make comforting love until the wee hours of the morning. They were alive. Their part was over. Celestino was gone.

The verdict had been swift. Guilty on all counts, sentencing to take place in less than a month. Together, they had left the courtroom, satisfied and sick. It was almost over with only their victim impact statements left to handle.

The letter had come within two days of the final verdict. Externally addressed to Victor, internally acknowledging both of them. It hadn’t asked for forgiveness, instead asking them for a chance to explain.

That’s how they found themselves in the visiting room of the prison on a Thursday afternoon, nervously pressed together in a room of unpleasant looking people. Victor had wanted to come, Yuuri didn’t, but in the end Yuuri had agreed because he would do anything to help Victor heal.

Celestino was ushered in, flanked by guards on each side and anchored to his metal chair by the cuff in between his hands. He was thinner, the angle of his nose looked sharper against the sunken cheeks. Yuuri had only been physically close to the man twice, but the fire and fight he remembered had vanished completely. This was a man living with his life’s choices.

“I’m surprised you came.” Celestino’s voice was gruff, but not menacing, the sound more tired than aggressive.

“You asked us to,” Victor indicated with a flick of his wrist, “I thought we should hear what you have to say.” Celestino had always been larger than life to Victor, especially when he was a young child. This man was not a man Victor would ever recognize.

Speaking into his hands, Celestino flexed his fists, “greed is a powerful emotion, Vitya.” Victor flinched against Yuuri, who squeezed his hand tighter. “So is grief. Your parents were my best friends. We started Nikiforov’s together. We always said it would stay in the family.” The rough voice stopped talking, Yuuri watched as the unshaven Adam’s apple bobbed in Celestino’s neck. “I guess it did. I’m not going to make excuses for my actions. There are none. I just wanted to tell you that I was wrong.” Finally looking up, Celestino leveled his gaze at Victor. “You turned out to be everything your parents believed you to be. I should have had more faith in you. I should have had more faith in them. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

Victor leaned forward, taking Yuuri’s hand with him. “Why them though? I can understand why you came after me, but why them? They loved you.” Yuuri heard the strangled noise accenting Victor’s words and squeezed his hand harder.

“Because I was a greedy, jealous old man. I never found happiness like your parents did in each other. I thought if the restaurant was mine, then maybe I would.”

“Bullshit,” Victor slammed his fist on his leg and Yuuri held up a hand to the guard to let them know everything was alright. “You killed them to find happiness? What kind of crazy is that?”

“I didn’t promise you answers, Vitya,” Celestino scowled when Victor winced again, “I don’t have any good ones. I wanted you to know that I screwed up, and as dumb as I am, I am smart enough to know that you didn’t. You did everything your parents expected you to do and more. Be proud of that and know that, even if it doesn’t mean much, I’m proud of you.” Nodding at the guard, Celestino waved him over. “I’m done.” Standing with the help of a surly looking man, Celestino nodded again, this time at Yuuri. “Congratulations, I see the ring. I hope you do a better job at life than I have.” And then he was gone, shuffling away with the rattling metal grinding between his ankles.

Outside, Victor breathed in the cold air, slumping against his car. Yuuri rubbed his back, patiently waiting. Victor’s head was spinning. Celestino hadn’t said anything earth shattering, but his world felt all cockeyed anyway. Resting against Yuuri’s shoulder, Victor took a few deep breaths, before shifting to open the passenger side door. Stealing a kiss from Yuuri, Victor felt the warmth of Yuuri’s lips anchoring him back to reality. Running around to climb in on his own side, Victor reached for Yuuri’s hand. “Do you think…” Victor didn’t finish his question, shaking his head because he didn’t know how to convey his thoughts.

“I think he was sincere,” Yuuri pondered, laying back against the seat. “Even an idiot would know they should be proud of you.” Yuuri smiled when Victor gave a weak chuckle.

“I’m going to ask them to be lenient on him,” Victor glanced to Yuuri, seeing the supportive nod and appreciating every second of it, “two wrongs don’t make a right. He isn’t a good person, but I don’t have to match him there. I don’t have to wish for his demise. Maybe then he’ll change.”

“You’re a good man, Charlie Brown,” Yuuri joked, enjoying the more genuine laughter rumbling from Victor. “Honestly though, you should do whatever feels right to you. I am going to support you, no matter what that is.”

As the car stopped at a traffic signal, Victor leaned over the center to press a loving kiss to Yuuri’s lips. “How did I get so lucky?”

Smiling as the cars behind them started honking, Yuuri settled back in his seat. “You needed a chef.”

“You needed a forever.” Victor smiled.

“That’s it, that’s our story. Wedding vows written!” Yuuri high fived their joined hands with his free hand making Victor laugh. Together, they left the hurt Celestino had caused them behind, drowned out by the roar of never-ending love.

* * *

 

**Year Three – Month Two**

“You have to calm down!” Chris had Victor by the shoulders, preventing the nervous man from continuing to pace trenches into the ground. “Holy hell! JJ help me!” Grunting appreciatively, Chris yanked the tumbler glass from JJ’s hand and shoved it into Victor’s. “Drink, we’ll all do it. It’ll help the nerves.”

Staring hard at the dubiously colored liquor, Victor clinked glasses with his groomsmen and chugged.

                                                                                             <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

“Yuuri! You are making me nervous!” Phichit’s foot bounced as he stretched across the limo seat. “Please stop wringing your hands, they are going to get chapped. Chapped hands plus cumshots will be a fast way to ruin your honeymoon. OW!” Glaring at Yurio, who hand landed a solid punch on Phichit’s upper arm, Phichit pouted, “don’t be a baby, you’re legal all over the world now. It is time you learned about adult things.” Grimacing again as Yurio kicked his shin, Phichit kicked back at Yurio, missing and making the youngster laugh.

Isabella’s hands carefully covered Yuuri’s, bracing them in her lap. Thankful, he let himself lean against her, feeling his sister’s hand pat his shoulder. If three years ago anyone would have told him that he would be on his way to his wedding, Yuuri would have said they were crazy. If someone had told him that his parents, sister, and family friends would travel all the way from Japan to see it happen, Yuuri would have fainted from the ridiculousness of the idea. But here he was, clad in a white and blue tux, riding in a limo toward his restaurant, watching his best men kick the hell out of each other while his best women tried to hold him still. It was surreal and beautiful, all at the same time.

 

                                                                                             <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

“It’s time, man,” Chris shook Victor’s shoulder. He pointed at JJ and Mila, signaling the need for them to take their places. Turning back only briefly, Chris wrapped Victor in a tight hug. “We’ll all be out there with you. We are so happy for you, Vitya.” Chris smacked a loud kiss to his cheek and disappeared out of the office doors and onto the patio, Makkachin happily prancing next to him on a leash. Victor took a few calming breaths, positioning himself at the door of the office, waiting for the music to begin.

Yuuri hugged each of his friends, smiling as they linked up with the friends that made up Victor’s side of the bridal party. Victor’s side was in black with pink flowers, Yuuri’s side was in white with blue accents. It was a good looking group of friends that led the way down the aisle, exchanging smiles and quick jokes as they took their places to either side of the altar. Humming to himself, Yuuri bopped up and down on his toes waiting for the change in the music.

Victor heard it first, the opening cords to their very first song together. It wasn’t traditional, but neither were they and Victor wouldn’t want it any other way. Taking his steps in time with the beat, he reached the opening to the patio, suddenly overwhelmed by the group of smiling faces. Everything smelled like flowers and spring time, the crisp scent of the promise of a new season hanging in every corner. Reaching the altar first, Victor nodded to Georgi and turned to wait for the love of his life.

The renovated patio was covered with twinkling lights, the exact lights that had covered the restaurant on the day of their engagement. Hanging from the carefully placed hooks were baskets of flowers, all variations of colors and types. Familiar faces smiled at Yuuri as he rounded the corner of the aisle, beaming at him in a reflection of the emotion that was surely painted on his own face. Lifting his eyes, Yuuri took in Victor, from toe to head, feeling his heart jump up into his throat. The slim black tux was eye-catching, but the man smiling in it was breath-stealing stunning. Yuuri struggled to breathe as he took his final steps, linking hands with Victor in front of all their family and friends.

Leaning into Yuuri’s ear, Victor whispered, “hey handsome, come here often?” Yuuri giggled into his shoulder. “The things I would like to do to you,” Victor continued, pulling back to wink at Yuuri.

His cheeks were bright red as Georgi began their ceremony, leading them through the standard language before giving them their individual cues to recite their own vows. It had been a huge deal to Victor that their vows be their own words, and Yuuri had happily obliged, despite the level of stress it caused him. This would be the most romantic thing Yuuri could ever do for Victor, and it had to be perfect. Stealing himself against the drowning emotions, Yuuri fixated his gaze on Victor.

“Yuuri,” Victor paused, hands shaking in Yuuri’s, eyes already beginning to tear, “when my world was dark, you were the light. When I thought love was a myth, you were my myth buster,” he paused to let the chuckles die down, “when I thought I had to do everything on my own, you were there to show me that I wasn’t alone. I was surviving blind, unaware of the amazing people and love I had in my life, until you stormed in with your unrelenting need to tear my blinders off.” Victor cleared his throat, unwilling to release Yuuri’s hands and letting his tears fall freely. “I don’t know if there is a word big enough to describe what you mean to me. Love is the closest I can come to describing it, but even that isn’t enough. You are everything I ever wanted, the first person who I wanted to keep forever, and the person who made me see how wonderful my life already was. My life is better because you are a part of it. You give me a reason to fight and a reason to believe in happiness. I promise to spend every day of my life showing you what that means to me, and doing the same thing for you.”

There wasn’t a dry eye on the patio and Yuuri felt his own lump bobbing in his throat as he tried to gather himself. Breathing deeply, Yuuri focused on Victor’s blue eyes and the sense of calm they brought to him. Pulling Victor a fraction closer, Yuuri began to speak. “Vitya, you are my everything. You are my forever, you are my partner, you are my friend, and you are the love of my life. Before I met you, I thought that no one who understood me could ever love me, especially not in a I-want-to-marry-you kind of way. My world was also broken and dark, and I had lost my vision. My drive to succeed was gone, and I was floundering. But even with all my wrong turns, I found my way to you. And when I discovered you, ink stain and all,” Yuuri took his own pause to chuckle along with everyone in the room, “that light came back on. You were the first person I wanted to physically hold, the first person who reached into my heart and dragged out all of the emotions I had stuffed away. You made me come alive again. I promise to spend every day treating you like you are the most important person in my world, because you are the most important person to me,” Makkachin woofed at their feet making everyone laugh. “I said person, Makka,” Yuuri smiled and patted their dog’s head. “I will love you and cherish you with everything I have. And I promise to always cook you good food…”

“And not make me fat,” Victor joked.

Yuuri snorted, “and not make you fat.” He leaned forward to Victor’s ear and whispered, “I promise to make sure you work it off every night.” Leaning back, Yuuri smirked triumphantly as the red flooded Victor’s cheeks.

The final words from Georgi and the rings retrieved from their place on Makkachin’s collar to find their homes on the grooms’s ring fingers had the couple eagerly bouncing together in their first kiss as husbands. As the applause rumbled through the patio, Victor and Yuuri continued to kiss, cementing their intentions to love each other forever.

* * *

 

**Year Fifty**

Two figures sat together, hands intertwined, on a stone bench overlooking St. Petersburg. The arch in front of them still contained its ivy and pink flowers, with the company of red roses woven in between. At their feet, the garden was a rainbow of blooms, circling the weathered tombstones. The restaurant behind them was booming with music and laughter, the overflow from the patio reaching all the way to their ears.

Between them, they had raised twenty foster children, teaching each child the skills that they could, before successfully sending them into the world with constant love and encouragement. They came home for holidays and called on birthdays, and generally were the best children that they could have ever asked for. Two were currently inside, acting as the successors of their legacy under the watchful eye of head chef Yuri Plisetsky, five time world champion figure skater and self-trained five star chef. His attitude was still questionable, but his food was outstanding, and his kitchen staff lived to please him.

After fifty years, they still held hands when they walked together and told jokes that only they could understand. They ate pancakes on Sundays and French toast on birthdays, and never let a day go by without saying I love you. Together, they had brought the three most important L-words back into their lives, and they lived with the strength of those words every single day.


End file.
